


These Three Remain

by shadowsong26



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, post-Deception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 09:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14541447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsong26/pseuds/shadowsong26
Summary: Immediately after the Festival of Light (and Obi-Wan's stint undercover as bounty hunter Rako Hardeen), Anakin and Padme leave Coruscant on impulse, in response to an anonymous tip sent to Padme's office about vital intelligence hidden in a cache of stolen goods. But things go terribly wrong, and they find themselves stranded and injured, with limited resources and no one knowing exactly where they are.Meanwhile, back on Coruscant, when Padme and Anakin don't return as planned, Obi-Wan does everything he can to find them and bring them home.Their situation, dire though it is, forces the three of them to process everything that just happened, and what it might mean for their relationship, moving forward.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to artist dogmatix and beta Lee/MM!

After a long, tense return trip to Coruscant following the Festival, Padme was _more_ than grateful to send her handmaidens home. All she wanted to do, after all that had happened, was strip off her layers of regalia and presence and persona and flop onto the couch in her apartment. Having a minute to just think about nothing with no one watching was _long_ since overdue.

At least she’d been able to make the trip on her _own_ ship, rather in the Jedi shuttle with Anakin, Ahsoka, and Obi-Wan. She could only imagine how much worse it had been for the three of them.

Things had been bad enough on the planet before they’d left. Somewhat to her surprise, Anakin had kept his reactions mostly contained—but he was _far_ from calm beneath the surface, more like a coiled spring, full of things he couldn’t name or articulate yet, but ready to burst out at a moment’s notice.

As for Obi-Wan…

Padme actually didn’t know how her other love was handling things at the moment. They hadn’t really had much of an opportunity to interact. When they did, it had been in public, and so she’d found herself falling back on her public face, almost automatically. That had been easier, for—well, for a lot of reasons, if she were totally honest with herself. She had been, only half-consciously, _avoiding_ any opportunity to speak to him in private. Oh, she would have to _eventually_ —and probably sooner rather than later—but in the moment…

Well, in the moment, and even still, she was pretty sure she would only yell at him. Or burst into tears. Neither of which would be very productive.

She stayed there, staring up at the ceiling, for maybe a half hour, letting her thoughts drift—and, despite her best efforts, they kept circling back to her fight with her lover.

Well, she had to move eventually, and could probably use the distraction of some kind of activity, anyway. She sat up with a faint sigh, pondering the idea of dinner in from her favorite takeout place. True, she _technically_ had plenty of food in the apartment, but she didn’t have vedkt noodles…

Before she could decide one way or another, she heard a familiar tap at the window.

“Ani!”

Padme hadn’t really had much of a chance to speak with _him_ back on Naboo, either. They’d managed to steal away for a few minutes in the immediate aftermath of the conspirators’ capture, which was enough to confirm that they were both all right, but not enough to really _talk._ And meeting up before hadn’t been an option, not even for a moment. Not even for a breath. She’d been busy assisting Neeyutnee with arrangements for the Festival itself, and from the time Anakin and Ahsoka and the rest had landed, they’d been focused on security, on the mission at hand.

But he was here _now,_ which, however much the idea had appealed to her an hour ago, was _much_ better than spending the night alone with her less-than-happy thoughts.

She got up and shut off the lock for him—he could open it himself, of course, but that was faster.

He climbed in and gave her a tight, weary smile and a much warmer hug.

“I wasn’t sure I’d see you tonight,” she said. Part of her had _hoped,_ of course, even as she’d been planning on an evening to herself. She always did, when they were on Coruscant at the same time, but she could never be sure how long he’d be stuck debriefing when he came home after a mission. And, past a certain hour, he didn’t like to wake her up.

He shook his head. “Preliminary debrief, I’m supposed to submit a detailed follow-up report in three days. The usual.”

“Right,” she said, and took his hand, pulling him properly into the room.

They were just settling in on the couch, when—of course—Padme’s commlink buzzed. She thought about just ignoring it. Especially since it wasn’t from anyone she recognized. Then again, her frequency was not exactly easy to find, and if anyone was calling her this late…

She sighed, mentally cursing the timing. “I should probably take this.”

“Yeah,” Anakin said, and let go. He paused for a second. “Confidential, or…?”

Translation: _It’s warm here and I_ just _got comfortable do I_ have _to move?_

“Possibly,” she said. Better safe than sorry, anyway.

“All right,” he said, a little disappointed. He unwound fully and stood up, stretching a little. “I’ll be out on the balcony when you’re done,” he said, bending down to kiss her softly.

“It shouldn’t take long,” she promised, then waited until he padded out of the room before taking a breath, putting her public face back on, and accepting the call. “This is Senator Amidala.”

“Senator, I’m glad I managed to reach you.” The caller was, assuming he was human, probably male. The proportions were right, at least, but he’d covered his face. And _that_ immediately had her on edge.

“Who are you?” she demanded, flipping a switch on her commlink to start trying to trace the call.

“Not a Separatist,” he said. “Not a—look, I have something for you. Information.”

“What kind of information?” she asked, then immediately regretted it. _Should not have taken the bait like that, should_ not _be letting him control the dialogue, dammit, I_ know _better…_

On the other hand, she _did_ need to keep him talking for the live trace to work, so, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. As long as she didn’t get too caught up in the conversation, and forget who she was dealing with—

“Chemical weapons tests,” he said flatly. “On Separatist-occupied planets.”

Well. _That_ got her attention.

She glanced over at the balcony, considering calling Anakin in. He should probably hear this, too; he had the resources and the experience to _act_ on a tip like this, in a way that she didn’t.

“I have a datacard,” the caller went on, “which shows the compounds they’re working with and where they’re planning to do a trial run.”

Then again, she _could_ fill Anakin on the details later, and bringing him in might spook her informant. If the caller was reaching out to _her,_ and not going through normal channels, he probably had a reason.

Of course, exactly what that reason _was_ could be very, very important.

“Why come to me?” she asked.

“Because you’ve got a reputation for honesty,” he said. “And fairness.”

“I’m flattered,” she said. “But there are better ways to report this kind of information. People you could talk to, who are in a much better position to act on this than I am. Besides, anything else you saw or heard when you learned about it might make a difference.” _And I don’t really know what follow-up questions to ask._ Calling Anakin in seemed like the best plan again. But before she could—

“I can’t do that.”

Which could mean a lot of things. It could mean he was setting a trap for her, of course, but she didn’t really get that impression. It could mean he was a defector or spy and thought going through back channels like this gave him a better chance to maintain his cover—though if that were the case, why he’d come to _her_ was still a little bit questionable.

It could even be that he was just one of the paranoid types, who saw the Senate as too corrupt to function. He might even believe that any of her colleagues, or _any_ official apparatus, would just acquire this weapon and use it themselves.

She recoiled internally at the thought. While she was more than aware that there _were_ issues of corruption within the Senate, surely, they weren’t _that_ extreme. And, gratifying as it was to hear that she had a reputation for being above it all, the possibility that public perception was that grim was—worrying.

But that was a problem she could solve another day. She had more immediate concerns to address first.

She frowned, and decided to drop that line of questioning, for the moment. “How did you get this information?” she asked instead.

He hesitated. “I…find things sometimes. Things I’m not exactly looking for.”

She just raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“I’m…an independent contractor,” he said. “In acquisitions.”

_Aha._

So, not a defector or a spy. And she still didn’t believe he was setting a trap for her. As for paranoia…

“You’re a thief.”

 _Now,_ it all made sense. She _had_ made reasonable deals with criminals before, when the situation called for it. She’d done so back in her time in the Palace, as well as more recently in the Senate. And, like he’d said, she always did her level best to be honest in such situations. She knew other Senators had as well, but she it _was_ possible that she was the most well-known, at least in the underground. After all, she’d been heavily involved in negotiating the treaty with the Hutts at the beginning of the War, though it still left a sour taste in her mouth that she’d dealt with _them._

He nodded. “There’s Republic warrants out for me,” he confirmed. “I’d rather not go to prison for trying to do the right thing.”

“Right,” she said. “Look, especially without knowing more details about what you’ve done, I’m not sure I can make those go away, if that’s what you’re after. I’ll speak for you, of course, especially if your information pans out, but—”

He shook his head. “No. No, I’m not expecting that. I just want you to—not try to find me,” he said. “I want my name kept out of it entirely, if you can pull that off. The datacard is in one of my stash houses. I can give you the location, and you can go and pick it up. And then we part ways, leaving it at that.”

“And we leave all your other stolen property there?” she asked, a little pointedly.

“Well, yeah,” he admitted. “Ideally. I mean, if you see anything _particularly_ recognizable or ceremonial or something, sure, I don’t care, I mostly steal that kind of stuff for bragging rights anyway.”

She frowned, considering. She didn’t particularly like that idea, but—well, if he was right about what he’d found, getting her hands on that data was worth letting a thief go free, and even keep most of his ill-gotten gains. She’d let worse people get away in the past, for similar justifications.

On the other hand…

“Answer me truthfully,” she said. “Have you ever killed someone? Are any of your warrants for murder?”

“No,” he said. “I—all right, there was a traffic accident that might have been related to avoiding my getaway speeder a few years back, but…well, I can’t even say for certain that it was. And I don’t _think_ there were any charges filed.”

Padme weighed the idea in her mind, and found it was worth the price.

“All right,” she said. “Where can I find this datacard?”

His shoulders slumped a little, visibly relieved even in the grainy hologram. “I’m sending you the coordinates now,” he said. “It’s a blue card, and I only got it about two days ago.”

“So it’ll be easy to find?”

“Should be,” he said.

Her comm beeped again, the coordinates lighting up on the text screen. She scanned them quickly before sending them on to her datapad. She was relieved to see that the cache wasn’t _too_ far—about a day or day and a half to get there and back, two at the most. She’d have to double-check her schedule, of course, but it shouldn’t be a problem.

“All right, I’ve got it,” she said. “And I won’t try to pursue you based on any evidence I see in your storehouse. You have my word.”

“Thanks, Senator,” he said, and bowed his head. “Knew you’d be reasonable. Good luck.”

He cut the connection.

She checked the tracking data—sure, she’d promised not to pursue him for any of the _thefts,_ if she was wrong and this _was_ a trap…

_Public phone, five levels down. Damn._

Well, if something went wrong when she went after the data, Captain Typho and the rest of her security could use that as a starting point, at least. Security footage at the booth itself might give a clue as to the thief’s identity.

But that, too, was a problem for another day.

She set her commlink back on the table, and headed out to the balcony to join Anakin.

“Hey,” she called, running a hand lightly along his arm.

“Hey,” he said, turning and smiling down at her, then paused. “…what is it? Did something happen?”

“Nothing bad,” she said. “An opportunity.”

“What kind of opportunity?”

“The call was from someone who wants to stay anonymous,” she said. “A thief.”

His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“My contact,” she went on, “says he’s found evidence that the Separatists are manufacturing chemical weapons, and plan to test them in the near future.”

He shut his mouth, and frowned. “I see,” he said. “Did he have any proof?”

“He told me where to go to find it,” she said. “I was going to leave as soon as I confirm I don’t have anything urgent set for tomorrow. I don’t think I do, since my office tries to leave me a day or two to catch up after a major event, but—what?”

“Nothing, just…I don’t know, it doesn’t read like a trap to me, but…”

He didn’t want her to go. Of _course_ he didn’t, of course he was even more paranoid about her safety than usual, especially so soon after—

“It could be time-sensitive,” Padme pointed out. “He didn’t give me a lot of detail on when these—these tests are going to take place, so I’m not sure. But I don’t want to let this opportunity go. Especially since, even if he didn’t say so outright, he implied the tests would be on—on civilian populations. If my contact is accurate about what he’s found—”

“No, I agree,” Anakin said. “I’m not—I never said—I just—look, remember what happened the _last_ time you went chasing an unverified anonymous tip? I don’t want you to—I’m coming _with_ you. Okay?”

Which was fair, now that he mentioned it. If she ended up trapped on another exploding capital ship, needing a daring, reckless rescue from him and—

Well. Better not to go there at all.

Not that she doubted Obi-Wan _would_ come if it came to that. Or, at least, she didn’t _think_ she doubted that. But she had no idea what was going on in his head right now, or why he apparently doubted _them,_ and she didn’t want…

She didn’t know _what_ she thought, or wanted, other than she wasn’t really interested in talking to him right now. Not yet.

Of course, now that she’d thought about it, she couldn’t help but _feel_ it; the empty space beside them. The seat on her ship that would be empty.

 _And whose fault is that?_ she reminded herself. _Trust is—communication is—_ love _is a two-way street and if he won’t come to_ us _with the important, life-or-death things…_

She shook it off. _That_ was a conversation they would all need to have, but it could wait until after she and Anakin had retrieved this data and they got back to Coruscant. Hopefully, by then, they would both have had time to cool off and get their thoughts in order, so they could have that conversation without tears or screaming.

“Okay,” she said. “Yes. That’s probably a good idea. As long as you don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow?” All he’d mentioned was needing to file a report in a couple days, but…

He shook his head. “No, I’m not shipping out for at least another couple of days, and Ahsoka has some academics to catch up on. I just need to file a thing and I should call Ahsoka. Where are we going?”

“Uh.” She’d already transferred the coordinates to her datapad, which she’d of course left in the other room. Along with her commlink. “Meridian sector, I think the Avadii system, but I’ll have to double check. I have it written down.”

“Sector’s enough for now,” he said. “Okay. Give me—I don’t know, ten minutes?”

“Sure,” she said. “I need to change, anyway, and check my schedule.” She reached up and kissed him lightly. “Come find me when you’re done, and we’ll get going.”

“I will,” he promised, and she went back inside, leaving him to his calls.


	2. Chapter 2

Reporting in to advise the Council of what was going on wasn’t all that complicated—there was, in fact, a set procedure for following up on emergency intel leads like this, especially during wartime; a specific form Anakin had to fill out and transmit to the Temple. He was _technically_ supposed to list the actual system, and as much detail about the meeting site as he could (and he’d probably get lectured about his sketchy report when they got back), but he knew from experience that his oversight wouldn’t get caught until an actual sentient being reviewed the form and officially approved the mission, and he didn’t intend to wait that long. Because Padme was right, the intel could be time-sensitive, and waiting for that oversight and approval could take an hour or more. He was technically supposed to do _that,_ too, but he figured it was a formality in this case.

The point was, he’d done enough that he wouldn’t get an actual _official_ reprimand over this, just a pointed request for more detail, and a reminder to wait for a response next time. Especially since the sector _was_ contested space. But that was part of why he’d insisted on going along.

He read over the form one last time, making sure he hadn’t left out anything _actually_ important (and wishing, briefly, that Artoo was with him to doublecheck), then transmitted it and closed his link to the Temple network.

That done, just had to let Ahsoka what he was doing, and dodging any follow-up questions _she_ might have was going to be a lot harder.

She picked up the call on the fourth ring. “Hey, Skyguy,” she said, a little out of breath. “Sorry, I was running katas. Something up?”

“Nothing you really need to worry about,” he said. “Padme got a tip, some maybe-important data for her to retrieve. Important if it’s verifiable, anyway. I’m going with her for security. I’ve already filed with the Council, just wanted to let you know directly so you didn’t worry.”

“Okay,” Ahsoka said, then her hologram frowned a little, eye markings moving together pensively. “Wait, why would I—I’m coming with you guys, right?”

He shook his head. “Not this time.”

“But—”

“Look, don’t you have an exam tomorrow, anyway?” Which meant he should probably remind her to study for that instead of running katas, but she’d probably been doing them as a kind of moving meditation. He did the same thing when he was stressed. Or found something mechanical that needed repairs. It _worked_ for the two of them, and this past week had been hard on her, too. So he held his peace.

“I can postpone it!” she said. “And if something _does_ go wrong, you and Padme might need extra backup.”

Yeah, that was—he should’ve seen that coming.

And part of that, he knew, was just her itching to be back in action again, not stuck at the Temple fighting her way through an exam she’d—wait, hadn’t he already let her postpone this one twice? Not counting the time the Council had authorized, right after—

It _didn’t matter._

And the _other_ part—there was a faint hint of worry, verging on fear, and _that_ was just as familiar to him as her need to keep moving right now.

He sighed. “Look, I’ll be back late tomorrow night, or the day after. And _no,_ you can’t push the exam, I don’t want to get lectured because I let you get behind on academics again. All right?”

“But—”

“Ahsoka.”

“All right,” she finally said. “You’ll be back tomorrow?”

Assuming they didn’t run into an active picket line in contested space, assuming they found what they were looking for right away in the cache…

Ahsoka didn’t need to know all that.

“At the very earliest,” he said. “But we’ll be pretty late. And maybe not until the day after. That’s more likely, actually,” he added, thinking through the best routes to and from that sector. “So, don’t wait up or anything.”

“Okay,” she said. “What should I tell—”

“Tell him whatever you like,” Anakin said, just shy of snapping. A small, petty part of him wanted to say—let _him_ know what this feels like, to be cut out of the loop—but he squashed it as best he could. He needed to set a good example for his Padawan, and besides, he didn’t want to—get into it, didn’t want that fight right now. “The Council knows, too, like I said, so I’m sure they’ll tell him if you don’t,” he said. A little more measured, at least, but petty again. _Like they wouldn’t have told me,_ went unspoken, and maybe she heard it anyway.

_Damn it._

He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and locked it down. “Sorry. Look, I gotta go, Padme’s waiting. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, okay? We’ll find something fun to do. Especially if you do well on your exam. Okay?”

“All right,” Ahsoka said again. “Force be with you, Master.”

“You too, Snips,” he said, then hung up and headed back in to join Padme.


	3. Chapter 3

While Anakin was updating Ahsoka and the Council, Padme changed into something more practical and made sure her ship was prepped and accessible. Fortunately, it hadn’t needed any serious maintenance or repairs after the flight back, so which meant it was exactly where she’d left it, just waiting for her to fly out again.

And once he joined her, they lost no time in getting underway. In less than twenty minutes, they were in the air, maneuvering through Coruscant’s layers of traffic and defensive shields. She felt light and free, glad to be leaving behind all her current stresses and doing something simple and productive. Not that the stakes of this mission weren’t  _also_ high, of course, but…

Well,  _simple._

She’d left a note for her handmaidens before leaving, of course, so they wouldn’t worry. The fact that none of them had actually been with her in the apartment made advising them a little easier. She had also taken an extra step and called Dorme, who was due to show up first thing in the morning. Just to be sure word got out, in case some emergency came up while she was gone and her staff needed her input. She’d left a message, as Dorme was out tonight—she’d gone to a concert, if Padme remembered right. That was part of why she’d called _her,_ and not Motee, who didn’t have any plans. Motee, with some level of sense but not understanding the full situation, probably would have tried to convince her to slow down and not dash off into the unknown like this.

And maybe she and Anakin  _were_  rushing into this a little, even given the potential value of the intel. But, in this moment, Padme didn’t really care. She was starting to realize, now that they were moving at last, that some part of her _needed_ this; to get away and do something concrete that only involved a _minor_ ethical dilemma that wouldn’t break anyone she loved.

Besides, they’d only be gone for a day or two. It shouldn’t be a problem.

Anakin transmitted the last set of access codes and they finally cleared top last layer of shields. Without that interference scattering the light around them, she could see empty space and all its stars through the viewport at last. She loved this moment, and always had; almost as much as she loved breaking through the atmosphere to land on Naboo, and seeing the mountains and valleys and rivers and lakes resolve themselves into _home._

“Here we go,” she said.

“Yeah,” Anakin agreed, putting the hyperspace coordinates in one-handed as he shifted them onto the correct vector.

He paused for half a second, when his comm buzzed, but made a face and ignored it.

“Obi-Wan?” she asked softly.

His silence was answer enough.

She reached over and touched his cheek briefly; he leaned into her caress then turned his attention back to the console.

Although, Anakin ducking the call did remind her. She dug in her pocket to send a quick message to Dorme, to update her and let her know she was officially en route. She always did when taking a trip without any of her handmaidens, especially one that had been arranged so quickly.

But her pocket, to her dismay, was empty.

“Oh, kriff.”

“What?” He looked up, hand hovering over the lever that would actually send them into hyperspace.

“I think I left my comm on the table,” she said, sheepishly. She checked her other pockets, just in case, but—nothing. _Kriff._

“We can go back,” he said.

She shook her head. “No, I can link it to the ship’s comm. Not a big deal, just a little inconvenient. And Dorme will yell at me when we get back. Again. Hang on, let me do that before we jump?”

“Sure,” he said.

“Thanks.” She leaned past him and punched a code key, activating the link she’d set up ages ago. The _first_ —but, of course, far from the last—time she’d left her comm behind.

In her defense, that first time, she had  _just_  transitioned from the Palace to the Senate. And, while she was queen, she hadn’t carried a personal pocket comm; just a panic button and a locator. Of course, she had no such excuse for any of the half-dozen times _after_ that, but…well, that was why she had the link.

“All set?” Anakin asked.

“Yep,” she said, and slipped back into her seat. “Ready when you are.”

He double-checked their exit vector one more time, then hit the lever. Padme watched the stars swirl and turn to smoke, and felt the last of her stresses melt away with them.

It was almost like a vacation, in some ways. Even given how important the mission was. (Even given the empty seat on Anakin’s other side.) After one of the most stressful weeks she’d had in a long time, it was a weight off her shoulders. And Anakin almost certainly needed it as much as she did. If not more.

And, on the subject of things they could do to destress…

She spun back and forth in her chair idly. “So…at least while we’re in hyperspace, my ship _does_ have an autopilot, you know.”

He glanced over at her.

“And we’ve got a few hours before we come out of it, right?”

She raised an eyebrow and grinned at him.

“I guess we do,” he said. He punched in a few keys on the console, then unstrapped himself and offered her a hand, and a warm, crooked smile.

Oh, yes. This was a _very_ good idea. The best she’d had all day. Hells, but she _loved_ that smile.

She didn’t bother with the hand, just leapt up and wrapped her arms around his neck, finding his mouth with hers and giving herself up entirely to the moment.


	4. Chapter 4

Obi-Wan had not precisely been avoiding Anakin since the two of them and Ahsoka had gotten back to the Temple. But he had had a much longer debrief than his partner, and then he had spent the next several hours catching up on things, both in terms of tasks that had been set aside while he was away and bringing himself up to speed on anything particularly critical he might have missed.

He’d be lying, though, if he said he wasn’t a little relieved for the excuse to avoid another row. And, to be fair, they _had_ avoided one another on the trip back from Naboo. They’d synced up well enough when fighting Dooku in the Palace, of course, but afterwards, Anakin had withdrawn again. Still clearly upset with him.

Well, he would come around eventually. Perhaps even getting back to the Temple and laying everything out in order during his own debrief had given him some perspective. Helped him understand how _necessary_ it had been. Or, if not then, whenever he finally sat down and actually wrote his official report—which, knowing Anakin, probably wouldn’t be until the very last minute.

That, though, was not yet a certainty and might take some time. At the moment, though, Obi-Wan had completed all of the backlogged tasks he had the energy for after what had been a very, _very_ long week, and was headed back to their shared quarters, hoping for—something better than the last few days had been.

But when he did make it back at last, their quarters were deserted.

Which was—well, Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. Not surprised, particularly, but beyond that…

 _He probably snuck out to race again. Either that, or he went to see Padme._ Obi-Wan rather hoped for the latter case, having thought of it. It was certainly better than the alternative. While it seemed to help Anakin burn off excess adrenaline in a way meditation never could, Obi-Wan didn’t entirely approve of that particular habit (nor did Padme; she worried about him crashing, which _had_ happened once or twice; though not they had all reconnected and the War began).

Padme’s was more likely, Obi-Wan decided. Primarily because he knew Anakin’s moods well enough that he didn’t think adrenaline would be what chased his lover out of the Temple tonight.

He considered following for a moment, but eventually decided against it. As much as he had missed the two of them, as much as he wanted to curl up beside them in Padme’s bed and listen to the traffic and the two of them breathing beside him and just _be_ with them again…

He wasn’t sure that was the best thing for him to do just yet. He needed…a part of him needed some time alone with his own thoughts, especially after spending so long—outside of them wasn’t quite the right way to put it, but he wasn’t sure what was. Submerging them, he supposed, beneath what he’d had to do to blend in with the company he’d been keeping. Setting them aside, as much as he could, for the sake of his mission.

In any case, he found himself not quite willing to leave the peace of the Temple tonight. Not unless one of them was in danger and he _had_ to, and he didn’t sense anything like that.

Besides, while Padme would _probably_ help keep things calm if he and Anakin started arguing again, he didn’t like putting her in that position. It would be best if the two of them had their fight separately first, when Anakin came home tomorrow.

…assuming _she_ wasn’t upset with him as well. She had attended his funeral; he’d seen the holos of her standing next to Satine. She had looked much like she did on the Senate floor, when something critical was being debated and she couldn’t afford to let her reactions show. That had been—in some ways, that had been worse than he’d expected. Worse than if she’d been openly weeping. That she—and Anakin—had both been so _quiet._

For Anakin to react in that way was worrying enough—it was extremely unlike him, and therefore _alarming._ Particularly given how unbalanced he’d been when he and Ahsoka had caught up with Obi-Wan at the fueling station a few days later.

But Padme…it wasn’t _uncharacteristic,_ not in the same way. She was, of course, just as overtly passionate as their lover, but she _did_ bury herself like that when the situation called for it. But only when the stakes were _very_ high; when she felt she could not function the way she needed to if she allowed herself to feel.

That she had worn that face at his funeral was not…not a good sign. None of it was.

And he and Padme hadn’t had a chance to speak privately since he’d come back from the dead. It occurred to him now, thinking back on those images, on her too-pale, too-still face, that that may well have been _deliberate_ on her part. That she might have continued to hide behind her mask; not wanting to deal with…whatever emotional tangle she might be feeling in the midst of a crisis. Certainly she hadn’t made any serious effort to reach him back on Naboo, and if she’d _wanted_ to…

One of the things she and Anakin had in common was that, if there was something either of them _truly_ wanted to do, especially when it related to someone they loved, there was very little that could stop them.

But the crisis _was_ over now. And, now that he was back, now that he was _with_ them again, things would surely get better before too long. He was certain that Padme, in particular, would quickly come to understand—the unfortunate necessity of what he’d done.

Even if, at the moment, she was still upset over it.

Well. Perhaps it was better if he gave _them_ a little bit of space, as well as taking the time he needed for himself. So they could readjust in each other’s company.

 _But I should try comming them,_ he decided. _Just to—to touch base. Remind them that I_ am _here now. Perhaps hasten that process, just a little bit. And make sure Anakin really_ is _there and not off doing something reckless._

Of course, when he tried Padme’s number, she was busy on another call, and Anakin simply didn’t pick up.

Still avoiding him. Of course.

 _He’ll come around, too. Especially after Padme does. Once he stops—seeing this as something_ personal, _something I or the Council did just to spite him. Once he recognizes that I did what I had to for the sake of the mission, and I part of that was making sure I kept the two of them and our relationship_ out _of my decision._

That moment of transition couldn’t come soon enough. And hopefully— _hopefully_ —Anakin would reach it and things would settle again before they went back out into combat together.

He sighed, and set his commlink down on the table next to a datapad he vaguely recognized as Ahsoka’s.

And then, as if summoned by his thoughts, he felt Ahsoka’s bright, spiky presence hovering outside the door.

“It’s open,” he called.

The door slid open a heartbeat later. “Sorry,” she said, pausing in the door and sketching a slightly sheepish bow. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back yet, or I would’ve commed ahead.”

“It’s all right,” he assured her, and smiled. “Anakin isn’t here, but—”

“No, I know,” she said. “Uh, I just left a datapad here, and I need it for tomorrow.”

“Right,” he said. “Well, I was about to make some tea, would you like some?”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I have an exam I sort of forgot about, and I really need to study.” And, before he could offer to help, she added, “Test is in Kuati informal past tense, and I’ve been…anyway, I really just need to cram.”

And Kuati wasn’t one of the languages he was particularly familiar with, so he wouldn’t be much help. “Right. Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Yes, Master,” she said, rolling her eyes—which, in the moment, was familiar and endearing—and a small smile, which seemed a little bit…

Something.

She padded over to the table and picked up her datapad, along with a few sheets of flimsi in Anakin’s semi-legible spiky handwriting—he’d studied Kuati, too; the shipyards there had drawn him in. She turned back to the door, then hesitated a moment, blue eyes watching him with some sort of expression he couldn’t read.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

The air between them hung heavy for a moment, full of—not tension, exactly, but things left unsaid.

And then the moment broke.

“No,” she said, with another quick smile. “Just…I’m glad you’re back.”

Which certainly—it rang true, but felt…unfinished somehow.

He thought about asking, but he wasn’t sure that right now, in this moment, that was the best idea. He _did_ still need to meditate for several hours, reorient himself. As did Anakin and Padme, in their own way, and it stood to reason that Ahsoka might, too.

“I am, too,” he said instead, and let it drop.

She nodded, and flashed another brief, grateful smile. She started to leave, then paused, fidgeting with her beads a little, and said, “Um. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, Anakin actually left.”

Obi-Wan blinked—partly thrown by the sudden subject change, and partly … “He—what do you mean, left?” _Does she—did he leave the_ planet? _Why in the world would he—_

“He told me a tip came into Padme’s office, and he went with her to run it down,” Ahsoka clarified. “He filed with the Council, then called me. That’s why I knew he wouldn’t be here.”

And they hadn’t—normally, _one_ of them, at least, would have called to tell him themselves, even if, for whatever reason, he couldn’t come along. If nothing else, to let him know where they’d be, if he went looking.

He closed his eyes, took a breath. “I see,” he said, and nothing more.

“Right,” Ahsoka said. “Uh. I really should go, I just…figured I should tell you first. In case you hadn’t heard somewhere else.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I…I appreciate the thought.”

“Yeah, of course,” she said, and sketched a bow. “Night, Master. May the Force be with you.”

“You, as well,” he said, a little distractedly, returning the gesture and barely noticing when the door hissed shut behind him.

_Normally, they would have called._

He picked up his comm, and tried first Anakin, then Padme—but once again, there was no answer from either. Anakin, at least, might be actively engaged in maneuvering, but Padme…

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure whether he was more annoyed, hurt, or worried that they were ignoring him like this.

 _I_ did _say I wanted to give them space tonight. That_ I _needed that, too. They’re certainly taking that. But this…this is more than I expected. And to run off on a last-minute mission like this, without a word…_

He commed Anakin once more, not really expecting an answer, of course; but this time, when it rang through, he left a message.

“It’s me. Ahsoka told me you left, on a mission—please call me when you get this,” he said, then hesitated. “I…know the past week had been difficult. For all of us. But if we can—” He broke off. “Please just—call me when you can. I’ll see you when you get back, and we can…we should talk.” Another pause, because even after two years, some things were still hard for him to put into words. “I love you both. Please be careful, and come home soon. May the Force be with you.”

He ended the call, set the commlink down on the table. Perhaps he would try again in a few hours. But for now, he had done all he could. He tried to put it out of his mind.

In the meantime—in the meantime, he had the time he needed, to meditate and guide himself back to where he’d been before becoming Hardeen. He took a breath, closed his eyes, and settled in to begin that necessary work.

But one part of his mind still faced outward. Just in case his comm decided to ring.


	5. Chapter 5

Anakin and Padme dropped out of hyperspace several hours later in a somewhat unremarkable system. Padme had pulled a little data on their destination—the planet had no serious hazards other than the weather (high winds and temperatures on the low end of survivable, especially after dark). Some native large predators, but unless they wandered close to a nest or a den or wherever the creatures had hidden their young, they shouldn’t have any problems.

Other than, of course, the sector itself. Contested space.

Anakin was focused in on the scanners, checking for any kind of enemy scouts, as he eased them onto an approach vector towards the eighth planet.

She pulled up the coordinates again. “The cache is about halfway between the equator and the south pole, on the smaller of the two landmasses,” she said. She plugged her datapad into the nav system. “Feeding you the specific location now.”

“Thanks,” he said, flashing her a brief smile, before turning back to his screens. “Looks like we’re gonna have a pretty clear entry. Site’s on an open grassland, so nothing—”

“What?” she said, when he suddenly broke off and tensed. “Ani, what—”

“Strap in,” he said. _“Now.”_

She didn’t need to be told twice, making a beeline for her seat and just barely making it before he banked left, hard, narrowly avoiding a proton torpedo sent their way.

 _So much for a quiet entry,_ she thought, bracing herself and swiveling her chair for the weapons controls. She didn’t have much, not on this ship—it wasn’t a warship, and she refused to let it _be_ a warship, but she’d been in too many sticky situations to be willing to depend just on her shields.

All she needed now was a target.

Anakin banked again, pulling her ship into a tight roll and dodging another torpedo, and then the ship rocked with an impact and he swore.

“Ani?”

He waved a hand, silencing an alarm before it had a chance to go off. She glanced over and out the front viewport, to see the planet spiraling into view faster and faster and swallowed. “Ani?”

“Brace yourself,” he said, grimly.

She let go of the weapons controls just as another impact hit them and she slammed sideways into the weapons console; there was a _snap_ and a flare of pain and then everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

The world resolved itself into a chaos of shrieking alarms and smoke. It took Padme’s brain another few seconds to catch up completely; to realize Anakin was right there; one hand on hers; calling her name.

“I’m here,” she said. “I’m—here.”

And, despite how dim and shadowed everything was, through the smoke and the fog of groggy shock, she could still see his relief. “Can you stand?”

“I-I think so,” she said.

“Okay. Good. We need to move,” he said, helping her unstrap and get to her feet.

She completely missed what he said next. It was drowned out by a wave of white-hot pain from her left arm.

Something about the engines?

“Okay,” she managed, pretending she’d heard.

The next thing she knew, they were stumbling off the boarding ramp, headfirst into a biting wind. She blinked, and they were standing several meters away from the ship on what was meant to be a frigid plain, except that her ship—her ship was burning behind them.

_That…that would be the problem with the engines. If the fire spreads that far—if we hadn’t gotten—oh, hells, we could have—he could have—_

Her mind spun, and she was back at Obi-Wan’s funeral, Satine sobbing quietly at her side, and Anakin, Anakin standing alone, his face half-hidden in his hood and so terrifyingly, heartbreakingly _blank—_

“Wait here,” Anakin said, peeling off his cloak and draping it over her.

“Wh—where are you—?”

He didn’t answer, just turned and ran back towards—back  _into_  the burning ship!

“Anakin!” she yelped, taking a couple staggering steps after him.

The fire reached the engines.

 _“Ani!”_  she screamed, or she thought she did; she could barely hear herself over the roar of the explosion, matched by the pounding of her pulse in her ears.

The flames died down and she dropped to her knees.

Anakin’s cloak lay heavy on her shoulders; still warm; still smelling like him; maybe the  _only piece of him she had left—_

No. No, no, no. She couldn’t think it. It was—she _couldn’t._

The wind whipped and wailed behind her, catching the edges of her sleeves and Anakin’s cloak. It flowed past her and over the ship, blowing the smoke away so she could see it more clearly now.

The only movement came from a broken piece of the hull, swaying in the wind.

_No…_

She stared at the wreckage in numb shock. It struck her, out of nowhere, that this wasn’t the first time she’d watched a ship of hers burn. And now her mind was back on the _Malevolence,_ where she’d blown her own ship up for cover.

Where Anakin and Obi-Wan had come to save her. Because they always came for each other. _Always._

Unless— _unless—_

Her mind whirled around her, unable to find purchase on anything.

Except the funeral, again—standing there, next to Satine who was crying while she—she—she couldn’t, she  _couldn’t;_ she fell back on her mask because she was dying inside and Ani was too and they couldn’t even _hold_ one another like they needed to; not there; not then; and not for days and _days_ after.

Except the night before the funeral, when she’d been setting things up in her apartment after dismissing her handmaidens so they could have some privacy, humming faintly to herself, waiting for her boys to come to her as soon as their meeting was over _(they’re really running late I hope everything’s okay)_ but then Anakin had called her— _Padme, he’s—Obi-Wan is—there was a sniper, a kriffing sniper,_ here, _on Coruscant, and I couldn’t—I wasn’t—_

Except the _second_ call, two days later— _he’s alive he lied but he’s alive this was all part of some plan—_ and she was feeling so many things at once and none of it felt real. None of it made _sense._

Except her heartbeat and the pulse of pain in her arm, dragging her back to the present, repeating over and over  _alone; alone; you’re alone now; all alone._

And then—and then—

And then, like some kind of  _miracle,_ Anakin stumbled out of the ash and smoke, like the sun cresting the horizon, clutching a piece of slightly-charred machinery in one hand, and sank down next to her, coughing.

“Ani,” she breathed, then turned and clung to him with her good arm. And _there_  were the tears.

“It’s okay,” he said, hoarsely. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” He coughed again—probably from the smoke, which was not good—but he was breathing, he was alive, he was  _here._

She let out a shaky breath of her own. “Don’t—don’t  _scare_  me like that.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t—my comm broke, when we—when we crashed. The one from the ship might…might be easier to fix, and I thought…” He cleared his throat, coughed again. “Thought I’d have more time.”

“Okay,” she said. That…well, at least that made  _some_ kind of sense. Her heartrate was slowly dropping back to normal, and rational thought was returning with it.

“Okay,” Anakin repeated. “Can you—can you look up at me?”

As much as she just wanted to bury her face in his chest, staying as close to him as she physically could, she did as he asked. She shifted, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, which bored into hers for a minute. “What…?”

And then he ran his hand over her hair, and she figured it out.

“I don’t think I hit my head,” she said. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“You were—” He swallowed. “You were unconscious. I wanna be sure. Follow my finger?”

“Yeah,” she said, and tracked it like he asked.

He slumped a little, relieved, and held her close. “Okay. Good. I don’t—I don’t think you have a concussion.” He cleared his throat roughly; she could feel him trembling a little.

“What about you?” she asked, reaching up to feel for blood or knots on his head, too. His pupils had seemed all right when he was checking hers, but—well,  _she_  wanted to be sure, too.

“I never passed out,” he said, but he held still and let her examine him.

“Okay,” she said again, once she was as satisfied as she could be without an actual scanner.

“Okay.” He took a breath, coughed again. “We need—we need to find shelter. I think I spotted a building on our way down, maybe two kilometers away from here. Think you can make it that far?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I can—I can walk. S’just my arm…”

He made a face. “I’ll take a look when we get there,” he promised. “Just—rather not be exposed like this any longer.”

“Okay,” she said. She frowned, trying to remember—she hadn’t checked the nav system before the crash, but… “I think it might even be the cache we’re looking for.”

“Great,” he said. “Right now, though, s’out of the wind and that’s all I care about.” And then he started coughing again, and she—she shoved the fear aside. She had to. It wasn’t going to help anything right now. He’d be better once they were somewhere safe and sheltered.

“Fair,” she said. “D’you want your cloak back?” She was starting to feel the cold, even with what was left of her ship still burning not too far away. And she knew, from experience, that he got cold more easily than she did.

He shook his head. “Keep it. You sure you can make it?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” he said, and helped her up. “Stay close, all right? It’s—s’better if I have my hands free.”

Just in case.

She shivered internally, and got her blaster out, too. At least her dominant hand was all right, and in a pinch, she would _probably_ hit what she was aiming at. But the pain from her left arm was throwing everything off. It was better not to depend on her in a fight right now.

He watched her for a second, making sure she was steady. “Follow me,” he said, and turned and started off.

She stayed close to him, keeping an eye on their surroundings and trying to ignore how much her arm was hurting. _Just a little longer,_ she told herself.

It didn’t do much good. Even focusing on how miserably cold the wind was instead didn’t help. Anakin started coughing a couple more times, which was a much more effective distraction, for a moment, anyway. Until the fit passed.

And then she caught a glimpse of something slinking through the tall grass. A pair of keen, golden eyes studying them.

She remembered, with sudden, horrifying clarity—this planet was home to prides of powerful feline predators. Predators that were large enough to consider a Human a decent-sized meal.

She moved a little closer to Anakin.

 _They’re probably not going to bother us if we don’t bother them,_  Padme told herself, sternly.  _We don’t look anything like their natural prey, after all. They’re just…they’re just curious, and we’re probably near their territory, and…_

On the other hand, she was injured—which made them vulnerable—and large predators like the ones she’d read about were unlikely to pass up the chance at an easy hunt.

For now, though, they were just keeping pace beside her and Anakin, observing. And it wasn’t  _that_  far to the shelter—she could see it on the horizon now—and the felines probably wouldn’t attempt to break into it to attack them. Not unless they were _truly_ desperate, and starving.

 _Let’s hope they’re not,_  she thought.

…on the plus side, the fear of being eaten _had_ distracted her from the pain—and from worrying about Anakin—for a few seconds.

 _This is my life now,_ she thought. _That I’m finding the silver lining in worrying about being_ eaten.

And then, before she knew it, they reached the building. Anakin held up a hand for her to stop, then cautiously rested a hand on the door.

“Clear?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, and coughed again, holding open the door for her.

It was dim inside, but not completely dark—there were a couple of shuttered windows up high in the walls, that let in hints of light. The windows were about eye level on her now, probably; a short staircase led down to the actual floor. Probably most of the building was semi-subterranean, to protect it from the wind.

She spotted a switch at the bottom of the stairs, and held her breath as she went for it. With any luck, it activated some kind of generator. They could manage well enough without lights, between the windows and Anakin’s lightsaber, but they _needed_ heat. Based on what she’d read—and what she’d experienced, outside during broad daylight—even being out of the wind wouldn’t do them much good after dark.

A faint hum filled the air when she pressed it, and she sagged a little with relief. “We have power,” she said, probably unnecessarily, then checked the wall next to the switch and—yes, there were two others. She flicked them both; the first didn’t have any obvious effect, but once she hit the second, a dim bulb in the center of the room flickered to life.

She considered the first switch, frowning. “Heat, maybe?” _Please be heat._

Anakin nodded, then cleared his throat; coughed once. “Probably. If it doesn’t start warming up soon, I’ll see if there’s another one somewhere.”

“Okay,” she said, and made her way deeper into the room before sitting on the ground with a faint _oof._

Anakin sank down next to her. “Here, I can…I can check your arm now. Probably shouldn’t wait any longer.”

“Yeah,” she said, and, moving from the shoulder, held it out so he could see. She’d avoided actually _looking_ at it until then. This had definitely been a good idea—it was badly swollen, straining at her sleeve. There was no _way_ she could have stopped feeling it, stopped fixating on it, if she’d been paying attention.

He hissed a little, then detached his medkit from his belt and laid it out on the ground next to them before studying her arm, touching it and moving it as little as possible. For which she was _profoundly_ grateful. It hurt enough as it was.

“Yeah, that’s—that’s definitely broken,” Anakin said. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Padme said. _You weren’t the one who shot us down, darling._ She wasn’t sure who _had,_ come to think of it. She couldn’t decide whether or not she should be worried that their attacker didn’t seem interested in tracking them down.

 _I can’t worry about that or_ do _anything about that right now,_ she decided. _We have shelter, we have power, Anakin has at least_ some _medical supplies…let’s just deal with one problem at a time._

He closed his eyes, hand hovering an inch away from her arm. “It’s—simple, at least. The…the fracture. Means I can set it,” he said, opening them again.

“Good. Yeah. Do that,” she said.

He hesitated. “Do you—I can sedate you. If you want.”

The idea was not at all unappealing. Padme had broken bones before, and getting them set hurt almost as much as the initial accident, in her experience. Having to go through it under these conditions, with minimal painkillers, at the hands of someone who was not an expert…

Not that she didn’t trust Anakin. She _did,_ absolutely. If he didn’t think he could do it, and do it _properly,_ he wouldn’t have said otherwise. And he _did_ have the Force to tell him when everything was aligned. None of that changed the fact that his lack of expertise might mean it would hurt even _more._ That was a very strong argument in favor of letting him sedate her.

On the other hand—yes, one problem at a time, but they were _stranded_ here. Anakin probably couldn’t get them rescued by himself. Letting him set it, of course, was a given, despite the risks. Even if she was still in pain and down an arm afterwards, it would be _less._ She would be a whole lot more capable of functioning. And Anakin was the only person available to do it.

But the longer she was unconscious, the less she’d be able to help him find a way back home.

“How long would I be out?”

“Hard to be exact,” he said. “But probably not more than a couple hours.”

That was—manageable. “Okay,” she said. “Yeah, do it.”

He nodded, and bent forward to kiss her forehead lightly. “See you in a couple hours,” he said. “Sleep.”

And even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t have stayed awake right then. It had been a long day. Her adrenaline was already fading. And there was Anakin, with his hands and his voice making her feel _safe,_ like they always did; letting her know it was okay to take off her makeup and her gown, to let her hair down and relax.

And just—sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a lot easier for Anakin to keep himself from panicking when he had a set of concrete things to _do._ Things that kept him from thinking too much, from going over the crash again and again in his mind and trying to figure out how the _hell_ he’d screwed that up he was a better pilot than that and—

_Focus._

He cleared his throat, which made him cough again, then dug into the medkit as soon as he caught his breath, ignoring the flare of pain when he shifted position. He’d injured his right leg, somehow—he _thought_ when the ship exploded, but he wasn’t sure. That was when he’d first felt it, at least, and noticed the blood dripping down his boot, but adrenaline covered a lot. Not that it mattered right now, though. Either way, his leg could wait until he’d taken care of Padme’s arm.

_Okay. Let’s see what I actually have on hand._

Bandaging, painkillers, no bone knitter, of course; but he didn’t really want to risk it without an expert to set the fracture first anyway—oh, excellent, he _had_ put in a set of disposable splints. Of course, they weren’t actual splints _yet;_ at the moment, they were a thick, viscous fluid in a small jar—but all he had to do was pour them to the right length and add the activator, and they would harden in about sixty seconds, firm and unbreakable as good durasteel.

He measured Padme’s forearm, poured about half of his disinfectant out so he’d have a clean workspace, then formed the splints.

_Now, the hard part._

While he waited for the splints to firm up, he went back to Padme’s arm, and examined it again, as gently as he could. He closed his eyes briefly and sank into the Force, trusting it to tell him exactly where to put his hands, exactly where to apply pressure and torque, exactly how much to use, and then opened them and _pulled,_ in as smooth and steady a motion as he could manage.

Padme stirred a little and whimpered as her arm snapped back into place.

“Sorry,” he whispered, bending forward to kiss her forehead. “Sorry, sorry, sorry…shh, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

She settled, drifting back, while he put the finished splints in place and wrapped it tight, laying it carefully across her chest before sitting back, and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and swallowing back bile.

 _If I_ never ever have to do that again, _it’ll be too damn soon,_ he thought. _Kriffing hell, I wish I was a better healer. I wish I wasn’t doing this by myself. I wish—_

But he’d aligned it correctly, he was _sure_ of that; so she would be okay—she would _heal,_ and be okay, especially once he got her off this rock and to someone who actually knew what they were doing.

And at least he’d managed to salvage _most_ of their comm system from the wreckage, plus what was left of his pocket comm. It’d probably take a while—he couldn’t be sure exactly how long until he got a better idea of the damage; at least a few hours though—but he could fix it. He could call for help.

Of course, they were in contested space, so how they were going to get a secure message back to Coruscant, or whatever fleet was in the area, or—

 _One problem at a time,_ he told himself.

He took a deep, slightly shaky breath, and started coughing again.

 _Okay,_ that _has to stop,_ he thought. He glanced over at Padme, and relaxed a little when he saw she was still sleeping. Good. The _last_ thing he wanted to do was wake her up right now.

He closed his eyes and focused, seeking out the best way to breathe that made his chest feel the least tight—and he knew he should probably be more concerned about that; that he was still feeling the effects of whatever the hell he’d breathed in when the engines blew; except there wasn’t a whole lot he could _do_ about it, and he didn’t want Padme to worry. He was fine. Or he would be. He _had_ to be.

Once he had it right—or at least as right as he was willing to take the time to get it right now—he shifted and started to get up, to grab his tools and the pieces of the comm, and the room spun around him.

_…right. I should probably deal with that first._

He waited until the room settled, then took a look at his wounded leg. It was still bleeding sluggishly (thankfully, Padme hadn’t seemed to notice; he didn’t want her to worry about _that,_ either), which also probably explained why the local predators had been shadowing them on their way here. He hadn’t been able to tell exactly _where_ the blood was coming from, or how bad it was, not without stopping to check, other than it wasn’t arterial. And, yes, it hurt, especially once the adrenaline started to fade, but the pain was—honestly, everywhere, so it wasn’t particularly helpful. Diagnostically speaking.

But now that he _was_ looking, he found the worst of it quickly enough—it was hard to miss the gash, long and jagged and deep, running along his thigh, from the outside of his hip and then diagonally nearly to the inside of his knee.

_It—could be worse. Like I thought, artery wasn’t involved, or I’d be dead. Not dead is good. Especially since Padme’s hurt and needs help._

Most of the rest of his injuries—at least, the rest he could identify—seemed incidental. Some minor to moderate burns, bruises, a few other scrapes and small cuts, already scabbing over. Things he could safely ignore for the time being.

 _Or the external stuff, anyway,_ he thought, when he started coughing again.

“Okay,” he said, when he got his breath back, then grabbed the medkit and opened it back up.

 _Not…there’s not a lot in here._ He’d vaguely noticed that before, of course, but he’d been focused on finding what he specifically needed for Padme, so it hadn’t really registered. And he could only fit so much in his basic field kit, so while he _had_ restocked it pretty recently, he tended to prioritize the things he needed most often. That meant he was carrying extra of some things and had left others out entirely.

 _Okay. Bleeding needs to stop, so I need the—of_ course _I forgot to refill that after the last time. Uh. Tourniquet—maybe, but I don’t know if I could place one high enough to work, and I’d rather not have to worry about monitoring it too close, or worse, make_ Padme _worry about it…_

For a brief moment, he considered his lightsaber—cauterizing was a _very_ efficient way to stop bleeding. And for bleeding that was sluggish but didn’t seem to want to _stop,_ it might not be his _worst_ option.

But—

_No. No, on second thought, it’s too hard to control, too hard to get a good angle. And Obi-Wan would—_

He forced his thoughts off that track as fast as he could. He was _not_ thinking about Obi-Wan right now.

Still, cauterizing _was_ probably a bad plan. Even _if_ he got it exactly right and didn’t cut his own damn leg off or hurt himself worse in the moment, it left him way more vulnerable to complications later, and Padme would smell it when she woke up.

“…you know what else I think I have, though?” he said. “Leather mending kit. I can—probably sterilize the needle. Stitches should work. Why am I talking out loud?”

 _Because I don’t like silence. Because I’m used to having someone answer. Because I hate being alone. …and now I’m_ answering _myself which is honestly probably_ more _worrying._

He shook his head, and checked for the— _yes!_

And at least he’d remembered to refill his disinfectant. Even after what he’d used for the splints, he had more than enough for the needle, and to splash over the thread coil.

And the wound itself, of course, which hurt like _hell_ and had him seeing stars for a second. Not to mention coughing again.

He closed his eyes again, centering himself and drawing on the Force to mute the pain, both in his leg and in his chest. Cheating and outright ignoring serious injuries like that was _not_ a smart thing to do long-term, as he’d been lectured about at least twice since the War started, but he couldn’t exactly sedate himself and taking any actual painkillers before trying this was an even _worse_ idea. So he _had_ to do it.

Besides, he only needed to keep things muted until he and Padme got out of this. Shouldn’t be more than a day or two. He’d be fine.

Once he could just barely feel his leg throbbing, he got to work, stitching as fast as he could, then wrapping it up in what was left of the bandage.

He watched for a few seconds, and it looked like—it looked like the stitches were holding. No blood spots or anything.

_Good._

He considered the painkillers in his kit for a second, then shook his head. He could keep suppressing, and Padme would probably need them when she woke up. He reached for the pieces of the comm again instead, and quickly settled into the familiar rhythm of taking something apart and making it better.

And that, more than anything, made the pain in his leg (if not quite the pain in his chest) fade away.


	7. Chapter 7

Padme’s arm still ached when she woke up, but it hurt a lot less than it had when she’d fallen asleep. That much, at least, she was aware of right away—that, and the stiff, heavy feeling of the splints against her skin.

As for the rest…

She blinked a little bit at the ceiling, waiting for the last traces of grogginess to fade. Unlike either of her loves, she had never really managed to work out the trick of waking all at once and springing into action. And being sedated, even by the Force instead of a drug, made it even harder.

But she _was_ up now, and she and Ani were still in a lot of trouble. She had no time to just lie here, staring up at nothing. She sat up, keeping her splinted arm close to her chest, and looking for—

There he was, half-buried in the comm unit. Just like she’d expected.

He looked up before she could say anything, and smiled at her, eyes softening a little. “Hey,” he said, then cleared his throat and let out a small cough. “How are you feeling? Arm okay?”

“It hurts,” she admitted. “But it’s better.”

“I have some painkillers, if you want,” he offered. “Not a lot, but…”

She considered. “Maybe later,” she said. _Once we have an actual game plan and have done whatever we need to do to make sure we’ll be all right until we’re rescued. Once we’re secure enough and I’ve done all I can with whatever resources we have so that if the pill knocks me out, it won’t be a problem._ “What about you, are you okay?”

She’d been completely absorbed in her own pain—although, in her defense, a broken arm _really hurt—_ and she realized abruptly that she’d forgotten to even ask. True, she’d checked for a concussion, but only after he’d given her the idea by checking _her,_ and…

Padme eyed him a little, trying to gauge for herself. The bruises were already starting to show—there were a _lot_ of them; though she had a feeling that if she had a mirror, she’d look at least as bad—and there were a few burns she could see. They didn’t look _too_ bad, but they were still there.

“Nothing broken, I checked,” he said.

Well, that was good. And his breathing did sound a _little_ better, even if it wasn’t totally clear. She thought. She _hoped._

In any case, this was far from the worst she’d seen from him, and she took heart from that.

“Good,” she said. “How’s that coming along?”

He made a face. “I can get it fixed,” he assured her. “But it’s gonna take me at least a few more hours. Maybe a day.”

“Right,” she said. Add probably a second day for their rescue to actually _get_ to them, which was less than ideal. But they’d manage. Anakin was all right, at least for now. Her arm had been successfully set and was stabilized. They could handle this. For a little while, at least.

She scanned the shelves around them. The room was full of an eclectic mass of objects, some immediately identifiable—including an Alderaanian moss painting in one corner—and some not.

Not much that could help their current situation, at least not on first glance.

Then again…

She frowned, considering, and then carefully stood up. She knew should prioritize looking for useful supplies and see to their more immediate needs, but…well, they’d come here, to this planet, for a reason. If this _was_ the cache—which, given the painting, and the few other valuables she thought she could see, seemed likely—they should at least _try_ to complete their mission.

Besides, chances were, she would fixate on the possibility until she tried, anyway. It was worth putting at least a half-hour or so of effort into a search, if only to quiet that part of her mind.

Anakin frowned. “Wait, what—”

“I think this _is_ the cache we were looking for,” she said. “And the datacard might still be here. We’re stuck here for a while, and I don’t want this all to have been for nothing.”

“Okay, fair,” he said, wrapped up his wires, and stood up as well. Which he really didn’t have to do. In point of fact, it would be _better_ for him to stay where he was and keep working to establish communications while she explored—but he probably wanted to keep her in sight, if she ended up moving on to another room.

And, to be honest, she understood and supported that impulse. She didn’t want him out of _her_ sight, either. Especially so soon after—

“Let’s start looking in here,” she said, forcing her mind away from those maudlin thoughts. “Maybe see if we can find a datapad to read it with, too, since mine didn’t survive the crash.” Or if it had, Anakin hadn’t bothered pulling it from the wreckage, and it _definitely_ hadn’t survived the explosion.

“Yeah,” he said, making his way over to one of the shelves and starting to go through it. He coughed softly, then asked, “Did your contact say what we’re looking for? Other than a datacard?”

“He said it’d be blue,” she said. “And he’d come across it recently, so it probably won’t be buried too deep.”

“Got it,” he said.

Padme nodded and turned to her own shelf. She spotted a datapad right away, which was a step in the right direction. She left it where it was for now, wanting her good hand free, and started looking for anything that might contain datacards, or a loose blue one on the shelf, or—

“Hey, I think I’ve got it!” Anakin called, pulling a box of datacards off the shelf. “Or there’s a blue one in here, anyway.”

“Great!” she said. She grabbed the datapad and went back to rejoin Anakin. “Let me see.”

He passed her the relevant card and she slid it in. It took a couple tries to boot up the ‘pad, but once it did…

“…at least your contact was right about what he had for us,” Anakin said, softly, sagging back against the shelf.

“Yeah, that’s…that’s something,” she said, and switched the datapad off. And the tests, at least based on this first, cursory glance, weren’t scheduled for another two weeks. Even if it took them a few days to get rescued and pass the intel on, that was still enough time to do something about it.

“Right,” he said. He cleared his throat, coughed twice, and frowned a little at the box in his hands. “There’s some more datacards in here. Maybe we should go through them?”

“It couldn’t hurt,” she said. “But that can probably wait.” After they’d made contact, while they were waiting for rescue to arrive. They’d _found_ it, at least, which meant that little corner of her mind that wouldn’t stop thinking about it was satisfied. And now she could focus completely on their current dilemma.

“Point,” he said. “Okay. Comms.” He set the box aside, then pushed himself fully upright again and reeled a little.

“Anakin!” She dropped the datapad so her good arm would be free to help steady him.

“I’m all right!” he said. “Just—just give me a minute.” And then he started coughing _again,_ which—well, okay, it had only been a couple hours, she didn’t exactly know how long smoke inhalation took to heal, but…

“You’re obviously _not,”_ she said, heart pounding in her throat, fighting back the ghostly sound of Satine crying next to her. “Here, let me—”

And then she saw the bloody footprints on the ground.

“You’re _bleeding!”_

“I—kriff,” he said. “Sorry, I—must’ve torn the stitches, just…give me a minute, I’ll get the needle and fix it.”

 _“Sti—”_ She cut herself off. “Sit down,” she said.

He knew better than to argue. His left leg folded under him, but the right stayed straight as he sank down against the shelf.

She crouched down next to him, and now that she was _looking_ for it, she could see the blood on his pants—which were _just_ dark enough for it to blend in, until she got close enough.

It was—it was _bad._ The wound ran all the way down his thigh, and it looked _deep._ She could see where he’d tried to stitch it closed, as he’d said. She could _also_ see a good four inches where it had reopened, and most of the rest were barely holding together under the strain.

“Ani,” she said. “Oh, _Ani,_ you shouldn’t have been putting any weight on this.”

“I didn’t—didn’t want you to worry,” he said.

“Well, now I’m worried,” she said. “Where’s the—what were you using for stitches?”

“Leather kit,” he said. “S’by my tools.”

“Okay,” she said, and stood up to fetch it.

It was right where he’d said it would be. And, fortunately, the medkit was right beside it. Almost all of the bandages had been used up, but at least he had about a third of a jar of disinfectant left. She ran it over the needle, the thread coil, and her hands, and set to work mending the gash in his leg as best she could. She wrapped it in all the bandages that were left, but there was only enough for one layer. It didn’t feel like enough to protect the wound and help him heal, and—hells, they should _change_ the dressing at some point, and…

The number of things that could go wrong, could get _worse,_ had just doubled, at _least,_ and she could feel herself start to cry.

“Padme—” Anakin started, but she cut him off.

“You should’ve _told_ me,” she said. “You should have—you _shouldn’t_ have—you hurt yourself _worse,_ and that’s—you can’t _do_ that. You need to tell me these things, Ani, you have to let me _help_ you.”

“I didn’t—” He cleared his throat, coughed twice.

“If you say you didn’t want to worry again, Anakin, I swear I’ll—” She broke off; took a deep breath. “Just don’t—don’t—don’t do this. Don’t _lie_ to me, not about things like this. _Especially_ not now.”

He jerked a little. “It’s _not_ the same thing,” he said, just shy of snapping.

“No,” she snapped back. “But that doesn’t make it _good.”_

He didn’t really have a comeback for that. But he held his ground for half a minute before deflating. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, hands stealing up into his sleeves as he looked away.

“I know you are,” she said. _But that doesn’t—_ hells, _Ani, what if I’d woken up and found you…found you unconscious, bleeding out—I would’ve—_

She cut off that train of thought as ruthlessly as she could and stood up again. “I’m going to…I’m gonna go see if there are any useful supplies in here. _Don’t move.”_

It came out maybe a little harsher than she’d wanted, but…

Anakin, who was already halfway to getting up (which was  _why_ _)_ sank back. “I’m sorry,” he tried again.

“I know,” she said. “I just…” She sighed. “I need a minute, okay?” She brushed his cheek lightly with her good hand, because she was  _mad,_  but not…

And because it couldn’t hurt to make sure he wasn’t running a fever on top of everything else. He felt all right, at least, even if he _looked_ paler than she liked. Finally, some good news.

“Okay,” he said, leaning into her hand briefly then letting her pull away and getting back to trying to fix the comm unit. Summoning the pieces and his tools with the Force rather than trying to get up again.

 _Well, at least_ that _part got through to him._

She turned and picked one of the doors at random. _Okay. What am I looking for…_

Additional medical supplies, to start. At minimum, there _should_ be something she could tear up for bandages. What else—a water source; maybe some food. Blankets would be a _definite_ plus; while the room was warmer than when they’d arrived—enough to be tolerable, meaning whatever system her contact had set up in here would keep them from frostbite or actual hypothermia—it wasn’t exactly _comfortable._ Besides, they’d need something softer than the floor to sleep on, especially as battered as they already were.

The first thing Padme found—in only about five minutes of searching—was a working water pump. She tested it, and the water ran out clear and smelled all right. Even so, she wasn’t willing to try it without purifier tablets; or boiling it, at the very least, if Anakin didn’t have any with him.

He probably would. She  _hoped_  he would; she’d rather not light a fire if she could avoid it. She wasn’t sure how good the ventilation in here was, and Ani was already coughing.

Still, she kept an eye out for things to burn. Just in case.

Nothing that looked like medical supplies, unfortunately, but she found a pile of rugs, tapestries, and other linens she could appropriate as blankets. She could probably tear a few of them up for bandages, too. Except—some of them were pattern-woven; beautiful; probably worth a lot to someone somewhere. Sentimentally, at the very least.

And, given the value and emphasis her own culture placed on beautifully worked fabrics, she couldn’t help but hesitate a moment, running her hands over one of the knotted rugs (dark green shot through with warm bronze tones, in an abstract, repeated pattern).

Things like this were not designed to be turned into a makeshift camp bed.

On the other hand—on the other hand, if there _had_ been Naboo heirloom tapestries in this pile, however priceless, and a pair of wounded, weary travelers had needed them to stay warm…

She would absolutely want them used.

“Sorry,” she whispered, to the rugs’ absent owner. “If we damage them, I’ll try to restore them before I find you and give them back.”

Which led her to another problem—rugs and tapestries, especially if she planned to move a lot of them, were  _heavy._  To say nothing of buckets of water from the pump. Even with two working arms, it would have taken her several trips, and if she could not afford to push herself too hard and injure the other.

 _Think. This is basically a warehouse, right?_  she asked herself.  _My source probably has a hoversled or something in here, to move heavy loads of spoils. Probably. I hope._

Fortunately, she wasn’t wrong; it only took about another fifteen minutes of searching to find the sled, tucked behind a haphazard pile of marble slabs with carvings she couldn’t identify, leaning against the wall. Hauling it out and setting it upright took some doing, by herself, one-armed; but she managed.

“Okay,” she said, panting and brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. She flipped the switch, and with a weary, creaking groan, it booted up.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She probably wouldn’t trust it to carry anything _breakable,_ but all she needed it for was water and blankets. It would be fine.

She found the control panel and maneuvered it back to the pile of blankets, and started loading them up, one-armed. It didn’t take quite as long as she thought it would; she was able to position the sled next to the table where they were stacked and push them over onto it, picking up three that fell onto the floor itself.

Padme then paused for a minute, considering. She  _could_  probably fit some water on there, too, without putting too much strain on the sled. But in order to do that, she’d first have to find a something to fill, and that could take a while. Plus, unlike the carpets, she’d actually have to lift and move it herself, and her good shoulder was already starting to feel the strain. Better to rest for a bit, especially since she’d already been at this for—hells, almost an  _hour._  She needed to check on Anakin. Make sure he hadn’t torn his stitches again, or…

She guided the sled back to the front entrance room, and found Anakin more or less right where she’d left him (oh, good), with the half-disassembled comm spread out in front of him (…less good, maybe).

He looked up, visibly relieved, and started to stand.

“Ani—”

“I can balance,” he said; and he did—steady, if a little awkward—on his uninjured leg. He  _did_  rest one hand on the closest shelf, for extra balance or as something to catch hold of if he started coughing again, she wasn’t entirely sure. “I was about to go look for you.”

She nodded, and made sure the brake was secure on the sled before going over to hug him, carefully. She could hear his breath rattling a little, and resisted the urge to hold him tighter. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be gone that long. I found blankets, and a pump.”

“That’s good,” he said. “And I have purifier tabs, I checked.”

“Also good. How long…?”

“A week,” he said. “If we’re careful.  _Maybe_  ten days, if we stretch.”

But she’d rather not do that—they didn’t need to add dehydration to the growing list of things wrong with them, physically. Besides, if it took longer than a week for them to get rescued…

“Okay,” she said. “What about food? I don’t—I didn’t look for that, not yet, but maybe we shouldn’t trust anything we find. I’m not totally sure what species my contact is.”

“I’ve got a couple ration bars,” Anakin said. “But they’ll run out long before the purifier tabs, even if we stretch them as far as we safely can.”

Which, to him, probably meant her having the absolute bare minimum and him having none at all, which was  _not_  acceptable. “I’ll see what I can find, then.”

“All right,” he said, then started coughing again; she could hear the shelf next to them creaking a little as he tightened his grip.

“You okay?” she asked, when it ended.

He nodded, and kissed the top of her forehead. “I can…I can identify stuff that’s…that’s toxic to humans. S’probably all we need for now.”

Again, assuming they weren’t stuck here for more than a week, which was—she couldn’t think about that alternative right now. If Anakin lost any more blood, or if his cough got much worse, then—

_Worry about that when it’s an actual problem._

“Right,” she said. “How’s the comm coming?”

“Not great,” he admitted. “I’m splicing with what’s left of my pocket comm, so we’ll have something that’ll _work,_ but it’s taking longer than I thought.” He paused, cleared his throat, took a breath. “Should be able to send something out by local midday tomorrow. I think.”

“Okay,” she said. “You should sleep at some point, too.”

“After I make the call,” he promised her. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she said again, then reluctantly let go, keeping one hand on his chest in case he needed her help to stay balanced. “We should probably get the blankets set up, at least. I thought we could make a sort of nest, in the middle of the floor?”

“Sounds good,” he said, letting go of her and the shelf and heading over to the sled. With remarkable grace and dignity, considering he was hopping along on one leg.

Still, she worried about him falling.  _I’ll see if I can find something he can use for crutches when I get water._

He paused, half turned back to her. “What?”

“Just thinking how much more awkward I’d be if I tried that,” she said.

“Well, Jedi,” he said, with a slight smile. “Could argue that I’m cheating.”

She rolled her eyes, but it did reassure her a little, that he wasn’t going to fall over. He wasn’t depending _just_ on his leg for balance, after all.

“Besides,” he added. “You’re never awkward.”

“Not true, and you know it,” she said.

“Nope,” he said, his smile deepening just a little. “You’re perfect. Accept it.”

She rolled her eyes again, but she couldn’t help smiling back. Because even it wasn’t his  _real_  smile—too tired and shadowed and with a hint of badly-masked pain—he  _was_  smiling, and that alone made Padme feel worlds better.

“Sit down,” she said, pointing at the sled. “Help me sort through these.”

“Yeah,” he said, and carefully positioned himself so he wouldn’t overbalance it. “What am I looking for?”

“The thicker ones, we want as pads to go on the bottom,” she said, joining him. “They’ll probably be rougher, anyway. But we should have enough of the finer ones to both cover it and use as blankets. And any of the finer ones that are a completely flat weave, set aside for me to take a closer look at. We might be able to tear some of them up for bandages.”

“All right,” he said, but he hesitated, one hand resting on the same green and bronze rug she’d admired earlier.

“What?”

“If…if my stitches tear again, I’ll damage these,” he said.

 _So we’ll just have to make sure they don’t,_  she thought, but kept that to herself. “It’s all right,” she said instead, letting go of the tapestry she’d been examining and cupping his cheek lightly. “It’s more important that we stay warm and as comfortable as we can right now. So don’t worry about it, okay?”

He nodded. “Okay,” he said. He took a breath; coughed once—twice—but at least not another fit this time; then got back to work helping her set up their bed.


	8. Chapter 8

Anakin, all at once, became aware of a hand resting on his shoulder. He knew right away that it was Padme’s which was—which was very good, because he’d been half-ready to lash out, otherwise.

_…kriff, did I fall asleep?_

He remembered finishing the bed, then giving Padme the purifiers so she could go get water from the pump. They’d shared part of a ration bar (he would’ve saved it all for her, but she had glowered at him until he ate, too), then she’d taken one of the painkillers from his kit and gone to lie down, while he’d gotten back to work on the comms.

That had been—kriff, how long ago had it been? He rubbed at his aching temples and tried to remember.

“Come to bed, Ani,” Padme said softly.

He shook his head. The comm still needed a few more hours of work. He shouldn’t have passed out like that. He needed to do better, if he wanted to get her out of here.

“It’s too cold, love,” she insisted, gentle but unyielding. “And you’re _hurt,_ and falling asleep anyway. Just for a few hours. We can spare that long. And you’ll focus better after you’ve had some rest. Right?”

Well, for  _him,_  it could be either—he could sustain himself with the Force (again, not exactly recommended; ignoring signals your body was trying to send was a good way to exacerbate the damage; but if it was just for a few hours he’d be fine).

But he never could argue with her. Not when she was looking at him like that.

“All right,” he said, surprised for a second at how hoarse he sounded. He cleared his throat, which made him start coughing, which—

The pressure and pain weren’t  _quite_  as bad as those few panicked minutes when he’d lost his helmet on Mon Cala. But it was about on par with having half his ribs broken; or that karking awful flu he’d had when he was about seventeen.

And it had—it had definitely gotten worse, in the past few hours.

Padme’s hand moved from his shoulder, rubbing slow, gentle circles on his back (which helped—a little; maybe; if only because it was comforting so his brain thought it _should_ help). She was worried; he could feel it curling out of her in spiky tendrils.

“Sorry,” he said, when he caught his breath.

“Don’t be,” she said, and kissed his cheek. “Water?”

“Yeah.”

She got up for a minute, then came back and pressed the canteen into his hand. It still tasted like the purifiers, but that was all right. Just meant he could be extra-sure it was safe.

“Okay,” he said.

“Better?”

He nodded.

“Good,” she said, then took his hand and pulled him towards the pile of bedding.

He didn’t try to argue this time, just slid in next to her—on her right side—while she adjusted the makeshift pillow they’d made that would hopefully keep her from banging her arm if she rolled over. It wasn’t really all that much warmer than out in the room proper, but eventually their body heat should fix that. Once she was settled, he turned off the light he’d been using to work with a flicker of the Force, leaving them in sudden, near-total darkness, other than a faint, purplish light from one of the planet’s four moons, filtering in through a half-shuttered window.

And for a minute, he almost relaxed. The wind howling outside faded into a distant hum, almost like the sound of traffic in the background when he spent the night at Padme’s apartment.

Their nest here, too, reminded him of home; it was almost as big as the bed in Padme’s room; bigger than they needed, really (and maybe bigger than it should have been; a denser pile probably would’ve conserved more heat); big enough for—

Oh.

Padme shifted a little against him, looking up; her eyes bottomless pools in the darkness. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, quickly.

“Ani…”

“It’s just…” He hesitated, took a shallow breath (and prayed, successfully, that he wouldn’t start coughing again). “We…we left room.”

“…oh,” she said.  _“Oh.”_

Neither of them had mentioned it, of course. It hadn’t exactly been intentional. But for close to two years now, it had just been…how things were.

She curled closer, burying her face in his shoulder, and murmured, “I wish he was here.”

“I know,” he said, because he did. Even if—even after everything that had happened, it would have been—just—that was where they all _belonged._ “Except…” He paused to cough (briefly, this time, thank the Force).

“Except?”

“Except…except if he’d been…here, if he’d been with us…” Anakin shivered a little, one hand drifting down to the throbbing gash on his leg; which actually hurt _less_ than breathing right now (or less constantly, anyway).

“Oh,” she said again, reaching down with her good hand for his free one and twining their fingers together.

“And I don’t think…I don’t think I could stand watching that again,” he said. “Especially not…not so soon, not…not when it would’ve been m-my fault.”

“It wasn’t,” she said. “Ani, it wasn’t—you didn’t shoot us down. I don’t think any other pilot could have brought us through a crash like that alive. It  _wasn’t your fault.”_

“Okay,” he said. He didn’t—he _wanted_ to believe her; and he tried, he really did try, but…

“Okay,” she echoed. Her head settled onto his shoulder, right where it felt most comfortable, and they were quiet for a long moment.

“I keep—” he started; paused to adjust his breathing; continued. “I keep thinking…the…we fought. I said some…some pretty awful things.” Which was—well, it _kind of_ was a lie, because he’d been doing his level best to _not_ think about that, about any of it, but now that he couldn’t hide from it anymore, he couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it.

 _And if_ that _was the last conversation I ever had with him…_

“I know what you mean,” Padme said. “I haven’t—I haven’t talked to him at all.”

Which was _not_ the same, but—wait, no, she meant she’d been _ignoring_ him. Okay. Yeah.

“I’m still mad at him,” he said.

“Me, too,” she said. “And we _get_ to be mad at him, for lying to us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She was quiet for another long minute. Then, very slowly, she said, “But, at the same time, it’s not that I don’t…I understand the mission. I just…I just don’t understand why he had to  _lie_  to us about it. I mean, if he doesn’t—” She cut herself off, took a breath, and started again. “I get that…I get that maybe he couldn’t have gotten a message to me. Not without compromising his whole operation. But that doesn’t excuse not…he should at least trust  _you_. And Ahsoka, and…he should have _trusted_ us.”

Trust Padme to find the actual words for what was wrong, and make everything make _sense._ Of course, it went without saying that, if he’d known, he would have told Padme as soon as he had a moment to get her alone. But she wasn’t— _she_ wasn’t the one who was supposed to help Obi-Wan sell it, so that didn’t matter.

And he _could_ have been convincing in the moment. He _knew_ that. Because even if he’d been in on everything, even if he’d known it wasn’t real—there was knowing, and there was _knowing,_ and he remembered what it had _felt_ like, in that alley. It had _felt_ absolutely real.

But Obi-Wan, apparently, hadn’t thought that would be enough. Hadn’t _trusted_ him to do it right.

Hadn’t trusted _either_ of them.

He swallowed, and blinked rapidly up at the ceiling. “I’m used to…I’m used to the Council lying to me,” he said. “I hate it, but I’m used to it.” He paused to cough. “I don’t expect it from…from him. Not like this.”

“Yeah,” she said, and sighed.

And that was—well, it kind of _was_ the worst part. He hadn’t lied to Obi-Wan since Obi-Wan had joined him and Padme. Not about anything _important,_ at least. Little things, sure, like whether or not he’d snuck down to the underlevels to race when he needed some time alone to clear his head, but that didn’t count.

And—yes, he _had_ kept specific operational details back in the field, when there was no other option or no secure way to send a message. But that was _different._ Maybe Obi-Wan thought this was something like that, but it _did not count._ There was holding details back for security reasons, and then there was _doubting_ your partner, letting him act on bad intel, intel that came very close to—

“I could’ve killed him,” Anakin said, abruptly.

Padme shifted; looked up at him. “When you and Ahsoka caught up with him?”

He nodded, and looked away. He hadn’t—he hadn’t really realized it until that moment, but the stark truth of the matter was that, more than keeping Anakin from _helping,_ more even than how much it had hurt him and everyone _else_ Obi-Wan had lied to—Anakin pictured Ahsoka, hunched over the body; the Duchess crying at the funeral; the silent agony at the core of Padme’s soul even if none of it showed on her face.

More than _any_ of that, Obi-Wan’s silence, Obi-Wan’s _doubts,_ had almost…

“I could’ve killed him,” he repeated. “I _wanted_ to kill him. Or, Hardeen, technically, but the point is—it was him. I didn’t—I’d say I came close, except I didn’t, because I was desperate and off-kilter and hadn’t slept in like four days, plus Cad Bane was there and he…” He paused for a second, to cough again, then continued. “I swear, he was an ysalamir or something in another life, everything’s twice as hard when he’s involved. The point is, I could’ve—I was there to kill him, and I might have…I could’ve actually done it.”

 _And how would I have lived with myself after that? How could I have faced_ you, _if I’d come back to the Temple after winning that fight and Master Yoda had pulled me aside and—_

He probably shouldn’t have said anything. Padme didn’t need to that image in her head any more than he did. But now that they were talking about it, it was—it was hard to _stop._

She wrapped her good arm around him, holding him close. “You shouldn’t have been put in that position,” she said.

It helped, that she agreed with him. It helped a _lot._

“I don’t like being mad at him,” he said, burying his face in her hair.

“No,” she said. “I don’t, either.”

He wished he could get a full breath. His chest felt tight again, and it wasn’t just the smoke this time. “When he…when he comes to get us…”

“We’ll talk to him,” she said. “I think if he…if we can _talk_ to him, make him understand _why_ this was—why what he did was—was _not okay…”_

He wouldn’t do it again. Because Obi-Wan screwed up sometimes, and did or said hurtful things, just like they all did, but he _never_ did it the same way twice. And it was always a—a mistake, or because he’d been wrapped up in the bigger picture and missed a key detail or two.

And he _would_ understand. Anakin and Padme could make him understand.

“Okay,” Anakin said. “Okay, yes. Then we forgive him.”

“Yes,” she said. “Then we forgive him.”

Her head settled on his shoulders again, and he felt himself relaxing, too.

“…sorry,” Padme said, after a moment. “You’re supposed to be sleeping, and that wasn’t exactly…”

“No, it helped,” he assured her. “Just to…it helped.”

“Okay,” she said.

Moments later, her breathing evened out, and she went soft and limp against him.

Even with the tension eased, though, sleep didn’t come as easily to Anakin. He grimaced a little and shifted, very carefully, trying to find a position that put less pressure on his chest without waking her. Of course, when he finally found one, it sent shooting pain through his _leg_ instead.

He shifted again, finding as close to a middle ground as he could. He thought about giving up, but he’d promised Padme he’d rest for a little while, and besides, he didn’t want to risk waking her if he got up.

 _I’ll give her an hour,_ he decided. _Then she’ll probably be deep enough that I can move. Get back to work. Contact Obi-Wan. Get off this rock._

That decided, he shut his eyes, and settled in to drift, losing himself in the sound of the rushing wind outside.


	9. Chapter 9

It had been two days, and Anakin and Padme still had not returned Obi-Wan’s calls.

He’d been hurt, at first, that they’d cut him off like this, not even given him a real chance to explain. He had also been also, he was willing to admit, just a little irritated. Yes, he had decided to give them time to come to terms with everything. He’d needed that time himself, after all. And, yes, he understood, to a point, why they were upset with him for leaving them out of the loop. But for the two of them to…he hesitated to call it _sulking_ , because there _was_ a mission involved.

And _yet._

Part of him was still vacillating between the two—hurt and annoyed. But the rest of him was getting a little bit worried. Not necessarily for their _safety;_ or at least not more than he generally did—given the nature of their mission, there were plenty of perfectly legitimate reasons for them to keep silent.

Still, something about the way all of this had happened bothered him. More than usual (and it was far, _far_ too usual) when one or both of them ran heedlessly into potential danger.

The feeling persisted, though he tried to shake it off; put it down to just being upset that they’d separated with this argument lying unresolved between them.

Which it wouldn’t be for much longer. While he wasn’t sure _exactly_ when, Anakin and Padme would be home soon; he was certain of that. He and Anakin and their troops were expected on Belsavis in two days, and Padme couldn’t be away from her duties for too much longer, either. And both of them would understand that, no matter how upset they were with _him._ Even to the point of running away and sulking (if that _was_ what they were doing; a part of him wasn’t so sure). They _would_ have taken a little more time to prepare and make arrangements if they’d expected to be gone much longer than they had been already.

So, Anakin and Padme would likely be back today, or perhaps tomorrow. Hopefully, by then, they would be a little more settled, and the three of them would be able to talk this through and make up. Obi-Wan would be able to explain to them _why_ he’d made the choices he had—it was necessary, it was _war,_ and he’d trusted in the Council’s collective wisdom in accepting the details of his assignment. Not because he’d _wanted_ to, necessarily—despite what he’d told Anakin in the immediate aftermath of the attack on the Festival, when they’d argued, he’d had his doubts.

But, then again, that was part of why he’d allowed himself to be overruled. He’d been concerned his judgment was compromised, due to their relationship; that he could not be objective on the subject.

And it _had been necessary._ There was no one else available who could successfully impersonate Hardeen—the transformation nanodroids could change facial features, but not overall size or species; and he was approximately Hardeen’s height and build. And he _had_ to establish and maintain his cover, and…

Still. Now that the needs of the moment had passed, his reservations had returned. And the fact that _both_ of his lovers were this upset with him had only heightened them.

If it had been only Anakin, he might have put it down to the usual friction with the Council spilling over; if not for the fact that it was so much more intense this time. If not for the fact that there had been that hint of _desperation_ underlying his fury; both during that argument on Naboo, and earlier, during their fight at the fueling station.

And Padme—Padme was upset, too, which was further cause for reflection. Padme, who was much more able to see the nuance and necessity of a situation that required subterfuge, even extending to those in her inner circle. Who had herself worked under assumed identities more than once in the past, when the situation called for it.

_Though she never faked her death to do it. She never made her nearest and dearest watch her die to allow her to disappear._

His heart sank, because he knew—he _knew_ what that was like, and he’d allowed himself to…

Oh, yes. He was beginning to see the mistake he’d made.

 _I should have told them,_ he thought. _My first instincts_ were _right. Not because it would have made things better between the three of us, or not_ just _because of that. But because I caused them—I caused them great pain, and I’m no longer sure it_ was _necessary. And even if it was_ _at_ first, _I could have read Anakin in after the funeral without compromising my cover, and he would have told Padme. No one else would have found out, not with that much at stake. I shouldn’t have—doubted myself. Or them. Not like this. They’re…they’re not wrong to be upset with me._

He sighed, and ran a hand over the still-patchy stubble growing in on the top of his head. _I’ll make it up to them when they return,_ he decided. _I’m not sure_ how _yet, but I’ll start by apologizing, and see where things go from there._

No sooner had he thought it, then there was a brief tap on his door. It slid open before he could respond, admitting Ahsoka.

Who hadn’t been by to see him since collecting her datapad the night Anakin and Padme had left.

Who had given him that…that unreadable look. _I’m glad you’re back._

_I should—she’s been quieter about it, but my choices affected her, too. Blast. I’ll have to—_

“Master Obi-Wan?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts. She sounded just a little uncertain.

“What is it?”

“Have you heard from Anakin?” she asked. “Or seen him, since—since Naboo?”

“No,” he said. And his doubts, his worry that they had been silent for this long, leapt once again to the surface.

_Take a breath. There is no passion, there is serenity._

“Oh,” she said. “It’s just—he said they’d be back by now. Late last night, or maybe this morning.”

And it was getting well towards evening now. And no matter how upset they were with _him,_ Anakin would have contacted Ahsoka with an update, if possible.

Still, he reminded himself, it wasn’t— _necessarily_ cause for alarm. He wouldn’t expect either of them to have underestimated travel time this significantly, but there were plenty of reasons why they might have been delayed that had nothing to do with any actual danger. And perhaps a third of the ones he could think of off the top of his head might also involve a communications blackout. As he’d kept telling himself, repeatedly, each time he’d tried and failed to make contact.

Still…

All thoughts of his own mistakes and how to fix them flew out of his head entirely, to focus on the immediate problem at hand.

“Did he tell you where they were going?” he asked.

She shook her head.

Obi-Wan nodded; he hadn’t entirely expected that Anakin would have, but it  _should_  be in the notice he’d submitted to the Council. He’d thought about pulling it earlier, when he’d started to shift from annoyed to worried sometime yesterday, but had decided against it. It would, he’d reasoned, only feed his anxieties—which he’d thought were likelier based on an emotional reaction to the most significant fight the three of them had had since becoming involved than any actual premonition of danger.

He regretted that now. Still, it wouldn’t take long to rectify. The report was easy enough to access, and once he knew where to look, he’d have a better idea of the situation.

But said notice, naturally, was incomplete. Anakin had included a brief summary of what Padme’s contact had offered and asked in return, as well as the sector the cache was in—but not the specific system or planet. Which was not at all out of character, especially given how he and Padme had rushed into this.

Of course, if they  _hadn’t,_  if Anakin had waited for official approval the way he was supposed to, he would have been instructed to provide a more specific location, and perhaps—well, they might still have gotten into trouble, but it would have been so much easier to help them if they did.

_And that sector is contested space, but it’s been fairly quiet for the last several weeks, so far as I remember._

Which might mean they were fine—or might make it just that much likelier that the two of them had been set up.

“You think they’re in trouble,” Ahsoka said softly.

“I’m not certain,” he said, projecting a calm that he didn’t entirely feel.  _It_ still _might be nothing. Calm down. There is no passion, there is serenity._

He called up a sector map, looking for specific trouble spots and trying to narrow down where his lovers might have gone.

Ahsoka came up beside him, studying the map. “But we’re going after them, right? Just to be sure.”

Obi-Wan nodded, because of  _course_  he was. Just as they would for him—just as they  _had_  done for him, at the First Battle of Geonosis.

And, despite everything he had done, he knew they would still come after him now.

Then again—

For a moment, he debated waiting, giving them another few hours to resurface or make contact on their own. There _were_ still several perfectly plausible alternatives to explain their silence. And it—occurred to him that his deception might have given them the idea that he doubted _them._ Which, of course, couldn’t be further than the truth—he trusted Anakin and Padme absolutely; it was his own judgment where they were concerned that he’d found lacking.

 _But if something_ has _gone truly wrong, if they’re—if they’re in real danger, then every moment…every moment counts._

No. If he—if he inadvertently confirmed any perceived lack of faith on his part, he would deal with the consequences when he _knew_ they were safe. He had erred once in trying to remove them from his thoughts, from his decisions. He would _not_ make the same mistake twice.

Of course, dashing off into that mess without a plan, without at least  _some_  kind of idea where they’d gone, was just as likely to land him in trouble in his turn. Ahsoka as well, since he very much doubted he’d be able to persuade her to stay behind and he didn’t think he should, anyway.

“Do you know which ship they took?” he asked.

“I already tried that,” Ahsoka said, which was not at all surprising. “I think they took Padme’s. The _Twilight_ ’s still in the Temple hangar.”

So getting any tracking data would involve jumping through several diplomatic hoops and coordinating with Padme’s security. Assuming it was even available, which it might not be. He vaguely recalled Padme mentioning an issue with one of their servers just before he’d gone undercover. If it hadn’t been repaired yet, and it was the relevant one…

“Have we had any inquiries from their end?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. None that I’m aware of, at least.”

 _Typho will want to search as well, particularly if_ they’re _in the dark as much as we are._ Which might or might not be wise—they’d cover more ground, with more people to search, but he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of risking Typho and his team in such a potentially dangerous area.

But those details could be finessed after he knew exactly what they were dealing with. Or as close to exact as he could get, under the circumstances.

“I’ll follow up with Padme’s security,” he said, rising and already halfway through the door. “Go over everything you can about this sector, start trying to narrow down the possibilities.”

“And then we go looking for them?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “And then we go bring them home.”


	10. Chapter 10

_Okay. Okay, that should do it._  Anakin ran through all the connections one last time, but it was as solid as he could make it, given the damaged materials he had to work with. And he hadn’t even had to borrow power cells from his arm, or search through the cache for additional parts. He’d been worried about that, for an hour or so last night, before he’d passed out and Padme had convinced him to go to bed for a while. It wasn’t his  _best_  work, not by a long shot, but it should hold up long enough to send at least a brief distress call.

One step closer to getting out of here.

He couldn’t help but sigh a little in relief, which—bad idea; it just set him off coughing again. Hastily, he tried to muffle it with his sleeve—he wasn’t sure whether or not Padme was still asleep, but if she was, he didn’t want to wake her.

No such luck.

He felt her hand on his back, soothing and supportive; once the fit had passed, she handed him the canteen, which he accepted with a nod.

“Feeling any better?” she asked.

For a minute, he thought about dodging the question, but he remembered what she’d said the day before and thought better of it. “’Bout the same,” he admitted. Which was more or less true; he’d have to actually  _think_  about it to be any more specific and he could not afford to worry about himself right now. “You?”

“Painkillers are doing what they’re supposed to, so I’m okay,” she said.

“Good,” he said, and kissed her briefly.

She nodded, then rested a light hand on his cheek, then his forehead, and frowned. “You’re a little warm.”

He made a face, and tugged her hand away. “Or your hands are cold,” he pointed out. Which they _were,_ because it was still freezing in here, even if she’d been under the blankets.

And if he was a little dizzy, it was because he’d been bleeding and he hadn’t really slept. That was all.

“Uh-huh.” She didn’t sound especially convinced—to tell the truth, _he_ wasn’t, either, despite his best efforts—but she dropped it for now. She leaned into him a little, glancing down at the comm in his hand. “Is it…is it fixed?” she asked, hopefully.

“Yeah,” he said. “But prob’ly just for a text burst. And I haven’t tested it yet, but…”

“But it’s fixed,” she said, relieved. She wrapped her good arm around him, giving him a brief, sideways hug. “So we’ll be out of here in a day or two.”

“We will,” he said. And, any other day, there would have been a faint tinge of disappointment there. The chance to spend three entire  _days_  alone with Padme—with either or both of his lovers, really; or at least once they officially made up with Obi-Wan—without having to worry about who might see or hear them, would have been something to treasure. He wouldn’t have wanted it to end.

Under the circumstances, though…

He kissed her again.

“Are you still worried about interception?” she asked.

“A little,” he said. Especially since neither of the code modules had been salvageable, so he couldn’t encrypt whatever he sent the normal way. “Think I know a way around it, though.”

“Okay,” she said. “I trust you.”

_All right. Moment of truth._

He activated the comm, and it booted up exactly as it should. It whined a little in protest, and was heating up faster than he liked—but that just meant they had to be quick.

“Okay,” he said, and punched in Obi-Wan’s private frequency as fast as he could.

The comm whined again and then beeped twice.

“…that didn’t sound good,” Padme said.

“No,” he said, and shut it off before it really overheated and shorted out completely. “Signal strength issue.”

“Kriff,” she muttered, slumping against him a little.

“S’okay,” he said. “I can fix it.”

Except, in order to boost the signal, he  _would_  have to dig up another power cell—or pull one from his arm. The first would eat up maybe  _hours,_  and as for the second—he’d  _really_  rather not be down another limb if he could at all avoid it. Besides, he’d then have to rewire the whole damn thing to compensate, especially since it was already on the edge of overwhelmed. More time wasted, and he needed to get Padme out of here and back home as soon as he possibly could.

Okay, other options—most  _likely,_  the issue was actually some kind of interference. As in, their host had some heavy-duty countersurveillance set up, and most of those made it just as hard to get a signal _out_ as to get one in. It’s what Anakin would do, if  _he_  were building a secret hideout, no matter how unlikely uninvited guests were. In that case, he could shut down the defenses, and then send his message free and clear.

Once he found the controls. Which could take—he didn’t know how big this place was, but he was pretty sure there were additional levels underground, beyond the two rooms Padme had explored up here. So searching for the defense controls…slightly less of a problem than looking for another power cell, admittedly, since it carried less risk of the comm exploding again. But still time-consuming, and therefore bad.

 _Still, that’s probably what I’m going to have to do,_  he decided gloomily.  _But—wait, first…_

He couldn’t  _believe_ he hadn’t thought of it sooner; his brain might be going slower—possibly, maybe even probably, because he couldn’t breathe right, but he could  _not_  think about that right now.

He gently extracted himself from Padme’s arms and started to get up.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Gonna go outside,” he said. “See if that helps.”

It  _was_  the quickest, simplest solution, after all. Assuming the problem was countersurveillance, or some other shielding or interference from the building itself. It still might not work, of course—he didn’t want to go too far, in case Padme needed him, and he had no idea what the range of the interference might be. But it was the smart first step to take. And if it didn’t work, they had other options. But this one cost them the least delay.

She stared at him for a minute, then shook her head.

“Padme—” he started.

“I’ll go,” she cut him off.

“What? No, I can—”

“If something goes wrong,  _I_  can run,” she pointed out. “You can’t right now.”

Well, he  _could,_  technically. Maybe. Probably. But it…wouldn’t be the smart thing to do. He’d probably rip his stitches again, which would make him even dizzier. Not to mention drawing the local predators’ attention. And she’d yell at him again.

Still, better to risk that than to put Padme in danger by sending her out of their (relatively) safe base.

He shook his head. “I can manage,” he said, swallowing the urge to start coughing again. That was the  _last_ thing he needed right now.

“But you won’t have to, because  _I’m_  going,” she said, firmly, then brushed his cheek again. “Besides, you have a fever.”

 _“Barely,”_ he insisted.

“It counts. Give me the comm, Anakin.”

“Padme—”

She just stood up and held out her hand.

There were times when Anakin could argue with her. Right now—

He should have. He probably should have. It wasn’t safe out there, he  _knew_  that, and okay she was right, she  _was_ more mobile than him right now, but at the same time—

But he was  _tired,_  and he didn’t  _want_  to argue with her, and everything hurt, and he couldn’t take a deep breath which was probably why he was having so much trouble marshalling his thoughts.

And that was—probably another reason she was right, anyway.

He passed her the comm.

“Thank you,” she said, and leaned down to kiss him softly. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah,” he said, then cleared his throat a little.

“Is there a specific message I should send?” she asked. “A reference code, or…?”

He nodded. “Apatros,” he said. He started to explain—she liked him to do that; she’d mentioned once that she sometimes felt left out, because of all the history he and Obi-Wan had that she didn’t share—but then the coughing fit he’d been trying to suppress caught up with him.

“Tell me later,” Padme said, full of worry again. “After that’s been taken care of. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said. He squeezed her hand just a little— _it’s fine, I’m fine, don’t worry._  “Be…be careful.”

“I will,” she promised, and then she was gone.

Anakin hunched over and closed his eyes, trying to split his wavering focus between tracking her and getting his anxious heartbeat under control. Rapid as his pulse was, it made him need more oxygen, which, hard as it was to breathe right now, was _not helpful._

Five minutes, maybe, that felt like forever, and she came back in through the door.

“I got through,” she said. “Then the comm died, I think it—I think it overheated, but I  _did_  see a confirmation the message had transmitted. I’m sure of it.”

He didn’t think he’d ever been so relieved in his entire life.

“I’ll—I’ll work on it some more,” he said. “F’he doesn’t—if no one comes in two days, we can try again.”

“Later,” she said, just as implacable as when she’d insisted on going outside to send the message. “You need rest.”

“No, I should—”

“Anakin.”

He probably wouldn’t be able to sleep any better than last night, but it wasn’t worth the fight.

“All right,” he said. “All right.”

She smiled, and kissed his cheek lightly. “Thank you,” she said softly; though he wasn’t totally sure what for.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against hers for a moment, before letting her guide him back into their nest of blankets to try and sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Typho hadn’t had any more information than Anakin had put in his report, other than data from a trace Padme had run on the call that had pointed her towards the intel in the first place. The Captain had decided to stay behind, work that end of things on Coruscant and try to track down the informant, while the Jedi started an in-person search in the field.

Obi-Wan had then taken something of a leaf out of Anakin’s playbook and left appropriate notice with the Council, but departed without waiting for official approval. Though he had, of course, provided a great deal more detail about the situation than his partner had.

Not that he knew the _exact_ location, not yet, but he and Ahsoka, between the two of them, had narrowed the location down to four systems within the relevant sector.

The first system on their list was quiet.

Worryingly quiet.

The kind of quest that set every nerve on end.

The kind of quiet that _waited._

Obi-Wan almost thought it was just his own anxieties (and guilt) reflecting back at him, but then Ahsoka shifted in her seat next to him.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she muttered.

“Steady,” he said. “Reach out beyond the tension. Do you sense anything?”

She frowned, closing her eyes, and let out a breath. “I don’t—think they’re here,” she said slowly, after a moment.

Obi-Wan didn’t, either. Still, he wasn’t going to leave until he was _sure._ He nudged the _Twilight_ towards the sole habitable location in this system—a moon orbiting the smallest of the five gas giants. “Artoo, check the scanners,” he said. “Anything?”

The droid’s response sounded negative—naturally, there wasn’t a text interface in the cockpit; Anakin hadn’t bothered to install one since he understood his droid perfectly well. And if there had been one when he’d acquired the ship, he’d long since replaced it with something he found more useful.

“That’s a no,” Ahsoka confirmed.

Obi-Wan nodded, and opened up a comm channel, setting it to cycle through and scan any and all frequencies Anakin might be using. He didn’t want to risk actually _transmitting_ anything, not with that unsettling quiet weighing down on them, but passively monitoring for any beacon or distress call should be safe.

Assuming _they_ were willing to risk it.

 _Silence proves nothing,_ he told himself, _but I don’t want to miss it if they—_

The Force shouted a warning half a second before Artoo did.

“Shields!” Obi-Wan said, bringing the _Twilight_ around to face the threat, whatever it might be.

“On it,” Ahsoka said, already feeding power there and freeing the guns. “There—vulture droids, see ‘em?”

“Yes, I see them.” There were six, coming around their target moon. From this angle, Obi-Wan couldn’t tell where they’d launched from. He didn’t see any capital ships on the scanner, but depending on which Separatist leader was in command here—

In the moment, of course, he had more immediate concerns. He swerved and flipped, avoiding a volley from the closest droid and setting Ahsoka up to return fire.

“Artoo, find out where they’re coming from,” he said.

The droid beeped once, acknowledging, and Obi-Wan dismissed him from notice entirely, focusing on evading the next volley, and the next—

Not quite as well as he could have; there was a warning from one of the heat sensors on the hull. He adjusted the shields and went into a hard reverse, dropping behind the last of the droids and watching as Ahsoka rendered it so much space dust.

He held there for a moment, breathing steadily, watching the empty sky around him for further threats.

“There’s no second wave,” Ahsoka said, after a beat.

“No,” Obi-Wan agreed, forcing himself to relax. “Automatic defense system, most likely.”

“Which means they’re not here,” she said.

“Exactly.” Anakin would have had no difficulty shredding through something like that. “So we move on.”

Ahsoka nodded, and fed the next set of coordinates into the navicomputer.

So. Searching the first system on their list had accomplished nothing other than some new carbon scoring on the  _Twilight_ and a few vulture droids reduced to scrap, but Obi-Wan was far from ready to give up hope. They still, after all, had three left, and if that didn’t work, he would just go back over the sector map and widen his parameters.

But then, when they were en route to the second system, Obi-Wan’s commlink buzzed.

“They’re not calling us back, are they?” Ahsoka asked, looking up from the scanner. “The Council?”

He checked the message—text only, and not on any of the frequencies the Council used. “No,” he said, relieved.   _Though if they_ had, _I would have stalled for as long as I could. I’m not going back until I’ve found them._  He opened the message itself.

The transmission was just one word, and not encrypted;  _Apatros._

It took half a second for the reference to register, then his heart leapt into his throat.

“What is it?” Ahsoka said, abandoning the scanner entirely. “Apatros?”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, after finally managing to unstick his throat. “Artoo, I need you to trace where this message came from.”

The droid beeped and caught the commlink when he tossed it.

“You’re sure?” Ahsoka said. “Apatros is—that’s nowhere near here.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said. “And it’s not where they are, he’s sending me a message.”  _And a clever one, I doubt anyone outside the Temple has read that report. So even if it’s intercepted, it won’t make any sense to anyone. Chances are good it won’t even register as from him._  He unstrapped himself and started heading towards the rear of the ship.

Ahsoka fell into step beside him at the cockpit entrance, looking up at him expectantly.

“Right,” he said. “Apatros was a mission we went on, when he was about your age—a couple of years younger, actually, around fourteen. The planet is primarily cortosis mines, and a union dispute was on the verge of descending into overt violence. We were sent to oversee talks—not that much talking was going on. But there _was_ one company official who was willing to at least try to reach out to the miners’ union. Union leadership, understandably wary, insisted she come to them. Anakin was—the company, under intense pressure from certain activist groups, had about five years earlier implemented a rule barring anyone under sixteen from going down into the mines. So he remained on the surface, while I escorted the official to her meeting.”

“And it was a trap?” Ahsoka prompted.

“Not exactly,” he said. “There  _was_  an explosion while we were on our way down there, leaving us trapped. Though not for very long, fortunately—I was able to make contact with Anakin on the surface, and he promptly ignored all rules and reason and came down after us. I suspected, initially, that it was a trap, though I wasn’t sure whether my contact’s superiors or union members were responsible. But we—Anakin, actually—later found out that the explosion was caused by a disgruntled ex-lover, hoping to use the tension as a cover to get away with murder. All parties involved in the meeting itself were sincere. The union representatives even risked their own safety to get to us over potentially unstable ground and offer what help they could. Which provided a foundation for very productive talks and an eventual resolution to the crisis about six months later.”

Despite the explosion, it hadn’t really been a particularly _memorable_ mission. In hindsight, though, it had been rather a strange one; Obi-Wan had spent their entire time on the planet feeling deeply uneasy, and Anakin had been tense as well. Not about the talks—perhaps he should have paid more attention, though. He might have seen the explosion coming if he had.

But that was years ago and no longer really relevant, other than Anakin using it as a clever shorthand.

So, they would need supplies, and—

 _When was the last time you had Kix restock the_ Twilight? he asked his absent beloved in some dismay, when he opened the door and found the ship’s small medbay worryingly empty. _And…didn’t you have a med droid on here at one point?_

Ahsoka’s eyes followed his, and her face turned grim. “So, you think they’re trapped somewhere, and they’re hurt.”

“At least one of them is, probably,” Obi-Wan said. “On Apatros, I was fine, but my contact had some nasty burns.” He considered for a moment. “All right. Here’s what we’ll do. Once Artoo has a location for us, we’ll head there and you’ll let me off in an escape pod.”

“While I go for more supplies?” she guessed.

“Precisely. There’s a medical hub about half a dozen parsecs away from here.” Which, with the modifications Anakin had made to the _Twilight’s_ hyperdrive, should only take a few hours, round trip. Add one or two in case Ahsoka had any difficulty requisitioning supplies, perhaps, but it would still be no more than half a standard day.

“Yeah, I think I know which one you mean.”

She didn’t look particularly happy about it—to be honest, _he_ wasn’t, either; not in an area this unstable, with unknown hostiles already in play.

But there was a decent chance it would be necessary, and it would…it would give the three of them a chance to speak privately. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how much Ahsoka had picked up about the three of them, but this was  _not_  the time or the place for her to find out.

And even if she did know…some conversations were better without witnesses.

“Wouldn’t it be better if I went with you, and _then_ went for supplies?” she suggested. “We could be more specific about what we needed.”

“It would also take more time,” he pointed out. “Particularly since, with a message that short, Artoo’s trace will be fairly inexact. It’ll take some searching once I get on the ground.”

“That’s…yeah, that’s probably true,” she acknowledged.

“In the meantime,” he said, “I can take what supplies we have here. Between this and what Anakin should have in his field kit, we should be able to handle just about anything for a day or two.” Which was far longer than she’d need, anyway.

“All right,” she said.

“Now. Do you know what happened to the med droid?” he asked. If it was stowed away somewhere, and he could fit it with him in the pod, that might make a _world_ of difference. Limited supplies or not.

“Oh, yeah—one of the ones on the _Resolute_ broke down, so Anakin shifted him over while Yularen was waiting on a replacement,” she said.

“And of course he never got around to bringing it back,” Obi-Wan said with a sigh. Unsurprising, and depending on how long it had been since the initial switch, possibly even reasonable.

_And if it was a week ago, or thereabouts…_

He closed his eyes, let go the guilt as best he could, and turned back to Ahsoka. “Here, help me pack up what we have.”

“Got it,” she said, and jumped up onto the counter to reach into one of the higher cabinets.


	12. Chapter 12

By the time they got back to the cockpit, Artoo had finished his trace. As Obi-Wan had expected, it had a fairly wide margin of error. All they knew was that the message had come from somewhere on the southern continent of the eighth planet in the Avadii system, the third on their list; the droid had just been for Ahsoka and Obi-Wan to confirm he should make the jump.

Which, of course, they did immediately. The less time they wasted, the better.

Ahsoka pulled up additional data on the planet without needing to be asked. It was a largely unremarkable world, covered almost entirely by dry, windswept grasslands over frigid underground lakes. It had been designated as a nature preserve just over four hundred years ago, home to some unique large grazers and their native feline predators, and as a result was largely uninhabited. The government that had pushed the Senate for the protection legislation had collapsed a century later, so it was no longer particularly well-enforced, but no one had ever bothered repealing it. In point of fact, since there were no known mineral or chemical resources of any interest, and the soil was thin, rocky, and rather acidic—and therefore unsuitable for most agriculture—the planet had faded into obscurity, largely ignored by all but a few devoted zoologists and botanists.

Making it a near-perfect site for a thief’s cache.

On the other hand, it was  _not_  a particularly good place to be stranded. Even if there were any researchers on-planet at the moment, they would be few and far between. Meaning the chances of finding help, if needed, were all but nonexistent. And the average temperatures after local dark were, based on the records, dangerously low.

 _Anakin was able to send a message,_  Obi-Wan reminded himself.  _And it’s been more than one rotation since they would have arrived. They_ must _have found some kind of shelter._

“All right,” Obi-Wan said, when at last they emerged from hyperspace in orbit around their target. “You’re clear on the plan?”

“I’m clear on it,” Ahsoka said. “Is this the part where I’m allowed to say I still think it’s better if we land together?”

“You can say it,” he said. “But we’re still doing this the other way. A better use of our time and resources.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I know.” She frowned pensively down at the grey-brown planet, floating in space below.

He put a hand on her shoulder. “They’re all right, Ahsoka,” he said. “They’re alive, and they only have to hold out a little bit longer.”

“I know,” she said again, then hesitated, and added, “Thanks.”

“Of course,” he said, with a brief smile. “Move quickly, and be careful. There may be enemy patrols in this area, and we don’t know what caused their crash.”

“I know,” she said. “You, too.”

“I’m always careful,” he said, lying blatantly. But it got her to roll her eyes and quirk a brief smile of her own.

“I should be back in six hours,” she said.

“Right,” he said. “I’ll set up a beacon then, but I don’t want to leave it active more than thirty seconds or so, so watch closely.” If she didn’t acknowledge, he’d try again an hour after that, and repeat as long as necessary.

“I will,” she promised. “May the Force be with you, Master.”

“You as well,” he said, then climbed into his escape pod, took a breath to brace himself, and hit the release.

Impacting the surface of a planet in such a craft was—perhaps not Obi-Wan’s  _least_  favorite activity, but it very likely made the top ten. Still, while Anakin had fallen behind on resupplying his ship, he had at least kept the escape pods in decent repair. So as far as such things went, this particular landing was _nearly_ bearable.

Once the pod came to a complete stop, Obi-Wan unstrapped himself and collected the supply pack from his feet before opening the hatch and jumping out.

He had landed right by the charred wreckage of Padme’s ship.

He froze for a moment at the sight. It was—it was worse than he had anticipated.

They had clearly been shot down, based on the distinctive char pattern of a direct hit from a proton torpedo. And it looked as though the engines had exploded. Which—well, out here, out in the open, the fumes would have dissipated fairly quickly, especially if there had been any wind on the day in question. Based on the notes Ahsoka had found—not to mention the fierce dry wind tearing at his own cloak today—that seemed likelier than not. Better still, of course, if the wind had been blowing away from them, but as long as they’d been at least ten or twelve meters away, they should be all right.

But if either of them had been _inside_ at the time—

 _They got out of it,_  he reminded himself.  _They were able to make contact. And I know—I_ know _that they’re—they’re here. They’re close. They’re still alive._

It wasn’t much comfort, staring at the wreckage as he was, but it was something.

He closed his eyes, took a breath, then started methodically searching the area around the wreck. He had no idea which direction they might have gone. If he was lucky, there might still be some sort of visible trail for him to follow. He had no doubt that he would find them eventually without one—even if Padme was sometimes difficult to find, he could track Anakin down through the Force so long as they were on the same planet—but the sooner he managed, the better for all concerned.

After about an hour of moving in a slow spiral out from the wreckage, he found a bloody footprint.

Anakin’s, most likely, from the size; and not very recent. The blood was dry, but dark enough, relative to the dusty ground, to stand out.

It was not—reassuring, to know that he had been bleeding heavily enough to leave a defined print like that. But it  _did_  give him a direction to follow.

Obi-Wan changed course, following the footprint, but kept to his previous pace. It wouldn’t do to rush and lose what little trail he had to go on.

Ten minutes later, he caught sight of a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, and paused. A large, six-legged feline was watching him through the grass. Curious, more than anything else; he was on the edge of her pride’s territory but not yet infringing on it.

Obi-Wan held still for a moment; partly as a precaution, partly to sort through a sudden, awful thought. She would have watched Anakin and Padme as well, if they came this way, and Anakin would have been bleeding; enough to draw something sharper than curiosity.

But there were no signs of that kind of struggle. And surely he would have sensed the aftermath of it, if things had—had gone _that_ terribly wrong for his lovers. Even two days after the fact.

Still, he didn’t want to risk drawing her and her pride down on them again. Best to avoid crossing her unseen border, and do what he could to keep her from following him now.

He nudged her mind very gently— _I am not a threat, nor am I food. You needn’t worry yourself about me._

She yawned lazily as the suggestion took, her attention drifting away.

He let out a breath, and resumed his careful trek across the plain, keeping a wary eye out for other members of her pride as much as further signs of Anakin and Padme’s trail.

But rather than more felines, or footprints, the next thing Obi-Wan saw of note was a building—half-underground, with a domed roof. And he _knew_ they were there.

Relief at having found them at last warred with worry over what he would find when he got in there.

And _now_ he picked up his pace, making sure the supply pack was secure and running full-out.

 _I’m coming,_ he said. _I’m almost there. Wait for me. Just hold on._


	13. Chapter 13

Anakin stirred a little next to Padme, and she shifted to look up at him. “What is it?”

“Someone’s coming,” he said, sitting all the way up and unclipping his lightsaber from his belt. “Get behind me.”

And it was _far_ too soon to be the help she’d called for six hours ago.

_They found us. Whoever shot us down found us at last._

She almost argued against taking cover when he wouldn’t—especially when he was still wheezing, and running a fever, and unable to walk—but then decided it wasn’t worth the fight. She would just have to shoot any threats before they came close enough that he had to engage.

She nodded and moved as he directed; he put a hand out behind him, protective as always.

For a long, long moment, time stretched and they waited; the only sound in the room was Anakin’s ragged breathing. She stared at the door, gripping her blaster as tight as she could, almost tight enough to hurt. _Come on…come on, what are you waiting for?_

And then Anakin relaxed, a half-second before she saw Obi-Wan coming around the bend, framed in the doorway.

 _How did he…?_ Based on how long it had taken her and Anakin to get here, Padme hadn’t expected to see him until maybe early tomorrow. And yet, against all logic, here he was.

She decided it didn’t really matter. She lowered her gun, letting out a slow, shaky breath.

“You got our message,” Anakin said.

“I did,” he said, visibly relieved to find them both—at least alive, and conscious, and coherent, if obviously not all right. “I wasn’t far,” he added, which—well, that explained the timing, at least.

“You were already looking for us,” Anakin said. There was—something—Padme couldn’t quite read in his tone; maybe because he was still so hoarse.

Relief, maybe?

“Yes,” Obi-Wan confirmed. “I was—when you didn’t come back as expected, I was worried.” He paused. “I…I want to…I’m sorry,” he said. “What I did was—I had reasons, and at least at the time they seemed sound. Still, I—I hurt you both terribly, which was not at all my intention. I should have…I should have thought it through. The way I went about things was…it did more harm than good. I should not have lied to you. And I’m sorry.”

And, just like that, an enormous weight lifted off of Padme’s shoulders. Like she’d told Anakin the night before, she understood why he’d had to—to fake his death, though she didn’t understand why he couldn’t have just  _told_  them about it. And she didn’t want to draw out this fight any longer than she absolutely had to. So Obi-Wan apologizing, of his own initiative, without them having to have a screaming match meant _everything._

Because forgiving him—forgiving him had never really been the question. Not for her and, based on what he’d said last night, not for Anakin, either.

But even if  _that_  was a given, it had been a whole lot less certain how long they should stay mad at Obi-Wan. If they held out too long, something would be…would be irrevocably broken between the three of them. And even if Obi-Wan had started it, that would be  _their_  fault, not his. Unless they wanted to break it off with him completely (which of course neither of them did), there was a point where they  _had_  to forgive him and move on.

On the other hand, they  _were_  upset with him, and they had damned good reason to be. He needed to  _understand_  that, so that the  _next_  time their personal and professional lives conflicted like this, it wouldn’t be this devastating.

And if they forgave him too quickly, if they didn’t  _tell_  him these things—without just flying off the handle and blurring the argument with four or five others—she wasn’t at all sure he would.

But if they’d had to have the fight again today, like she and Anakin had talked about last night, and if Obi-Wan _hadn’t_ grasped it on his own…they probably would have gone to one extreme or the other. And that wasn’t healthy for _any_ of them, or their relationship, in the long run.

Well. He had. That was what mattered now. That was _all_ that mattered right now.

Except she had to make sure it stuck. She had to make sure they actually _learned_ from this experience.

“We accept your apology,” she said, squeezing Anakin’s hand briefly. “And we forgive you.”

Anakin just nodded, and squeezed back.

“And it’s not like—” She paused, trying to decide how to word it. “We didn’t exactly handle it very well ourselves. Any of it.”

“No,” Anakin agreed softly.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, but otherwise held his peace.

“We should…” Padme cleared her throat. “We should probably talk about…about all this in a lot more detail at some point, but right now…we’re all here, we’re all—”

“Mostly okay,” Anakin said.

“Alive and conscious and coherent, at least,” she amended. “That’s…we can figure out the details later. But I think, right now, we can safely agree that we all need to—to be  _better_  about this. About communicating with each other. Because this—this—this  _cannot_  happen again.”

“I agree,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin nodded again, and started to add something, but broke into another coughing fit instead.

Obi-Wan frowned, and the next moment was crouched next to them, sliding his supply pack off his shoulder. “I don’t have much in here—you really do need to be more on top of keeping the _Twilight_ supplied, Anakin—”

“Haven’t been…haven’t been out with just her in a while,” Anakin said, having managed to get just enough breath back. “Shifted…shifted things to the  _Resolute._  More useful there.”

Or maybe  _not_  enough breath; he started coughing again. Padme thought it might be worse than before, but it was hard to tell. And Obi-Wan looked _deeply_ concerned, which worried her almost more than the cough itself.

“Yes, Ahsoka mentioned something like that. How long were you in the ship after the engines caught?” he asked.

“Not long,” he said, after a few seconds. “Couple…couple minutes, maybe?”

Obi-Wan glanced at Padme.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I…I lost track for a bit.” It hadn’t  _seemed_  that long—except that it had seemed eternal. She shivered a little and pushed the memory away.

He nodded, and brushed a comforting hand lightly against her good arm before turning back to Anakin. “I’m not sure I have anything that will really help. Other than painkillers, but they’re the kind that might depress breathing, as a side effect, and I don’t think it would be a good idea to risk that any more right now.”

Anakin shook his head. “Look, don’t—s’fine, I’m fine, worry about Padme, she broke her arm. Just…just give me a minute. To catch my breath.”

“Ani…” Padme said, and exchanged an exasperated look with Obi-Wan over his head. Which felt—good. Refreshing and normal, which was _another_ problem they should probably solve.

But they could work on that particular tendency of Anakin’s another day.

“I am perfectly capable of worrying about you both, you know,” Obi-Wan said, dryly.

Anakin grumbled something incomprehensible, but nodded once.

 _Good,_  she thought, and kissed his cheek softly.

He was still a little feverish, but he was cooperating. Maybe with Obi-Wan here, uninjured and able to help, he would stop trying to get up and making himself worse.

Obi-Wan helped Anakin shift position, and adjusted the rugs to give him a bit more support. “Better?” he asked. “Less pressure?”

“Yeah,” Anakin said; Padme couldn’t really hear a difference in his breathing, but she could _definitely_ hear the faint tinge of relief in his tone this time, and she relaxed a little herself. He _felt_ better, at least, even if it wasn’t fixing things long-term. That was enough, until they got him some actual help.

“Good,” Obi-Wan said, then hesitated the barest moment before kissing his forehead, very lightly. “That’s probably the best we can do for now, I’m afraid. Ahsoka and I split up, she went for more supplies. She should get here in a few hours.”

“S’fine,” Anakin said again, then glanced over at Padme.

Obi-Wan did as well. “Padme, are you…?”

“Broken arm, like Ani said,” she said. “He set it, and it feels right? I mean, it hurts, but I can move my fingers and everything. No tingling or numbness.”

“Then probably better to leave it as-is until you can get expert attention,” Obi-Wan said. “As long as you don’t think it’s getting worse.”

“Yeah, exactly,” she said.  _And I don’t think it is._ She flexed her fingers very carefully for confirmation, and they still moved like they were supposed to. “Other than that—I mean, I’m bruised to hell and back, but I don’t think anything else is serious.”

He nodded. “Well, like I said, I have painkillers.”

She shook her head. “I took some from Ani’s kit…not too long ago.” She glanced over at him.

“’Bout three hours,” he said. “I think.”

“Right. So I should probably wait a while longer.” They were still working. Mostly. As long as she didn’t move her arm too much.

“All right,” Obi-Wan said. “Let me know if that changes.”

“I will,” she promised.

He once again turned to Anakin. “Where else are you hurt?”

At least he didn’t try to deny it this time. “Tore up my right leg,” he said. “Already stitched it, and Padme’s been making me stay down.”

“Well, that, I  _can_  actually help with,” Obi-Wan said, unaccountably relieved.

Although having a concrete problem he could solve, that didn’t involve around sitting around and waiting for help to arrive when two people he loved were suffering…

On second thought, Padme completely understood that relief.

He dug into his bag again and pulled out a roll of fresh bandages and bacta gel.

“Here, let me take a look.”

Anakin nodded, and Padme shifted aside to allow Obi-Wan a little more access, careful of her arm.

The stitches were still holding, at least. And, despite Anakin’s earlier worries, he  _hadn’t_  stained any of the blankets. At least not significantly. A few drops here and there, maybe, but that was nothing.

Obi-Wan cleaned and rebandaged the wound with sure, deft hands, then gently rearranged Anakin’s cloak. “There,” he said. “That should hold for a few hours, at least.”

“Mm,” Anakin said, then tugged on his sleeve a little.

Padme, catching his intent, shifted over again, making room for Obi-Wan to join them.

He blinked, then smiled, and carefully edged past Anakin to settle himself between them. “You know,” he murmured, “Ahsoka’s going to be here before too long.”

“S’warmer this way,” Anakin said. “That’s what we’ll tell her. You’re keeping us warm.”

Which she might or might not believe, but Padme didn’t really care about exposure right now. It had been too long, and too many awful things had happened, since the last time they’d just had a chance to _be_ together. They _needed_ this.

“Don’t argue,” she whispered into Obi-Wan’s ear, then kissed his cheek.

“I’m not arguing,” he said. “I’m only pointing it out.”

“Shh,” Anakin said.

She reached for the topmost tapestry and pulled it over the three of them, curling up against Obi-Wan and reaching across him to hold Anakin’s hand, which was right where she expected it to be. Obi-Wan wasn’t usually in between them like this—Anakin preferred the middle—but when he was, Anakin’s hand was always waiting for her to take.

It felt right. Like everything was back where it should be.

Yes, they still had some work to do; and they were still at least a few hours away from out of the woods, but they were heading in the right direction. They were together again now. At last.

And she was going to do everything in her power to make sure they _stayed_ that way.


	14. Chapter 14

Ahsoka had had no difficulties getting to the station and requisitioning the supplies, and had come back and responded to his beacon as scheduled. Which, being better calibrated than the brief burst transmission Artoo had had to backtrace, got her _much_ closer than he’d been able to land.

She had, in fact, done one better than the supplies, bringing one of the field medics stationed there along with her, meaning Anakin and Padme got the help they needed that much faster.

They’d been separated on the station, which made precisely none of them happy. But Anakin, in particular, needed significant attention, with the staff at the station concurring with the field medic that he would need to go into a bacta tank for some time.

Obi-Wan had checked in with the Council while Anakin was getting situated, then settled in to wait in the room and get some other work done as he stood watch over him. Anakin did always do better—and fight the necessary sedation less—when he knew he wasn’t alone.

He hadn’t been there long when he felt Padme come up behind him, and set his datapad aside. “How’s your arm?”

“Good,” she said. “I’m supposed to wear a sling for three days, and they gave me some physical therapy exercises to do. But they didn’t have to reset it, and the bone knitter took without any issues.”

“Very good news,” he said. “I sent the data you and Anakin uncovered to the Council. They’re planning an operation, I believe under Master Plo’s command.”

“Also good news.” She nudged him a little and sat down next to him once he made room, watching Anakin float in the tank. “How’s he doing?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan assured her. “I’m told they’ll take him out of the tank tomorrow. _Possibly_ not until the next day, but more likely sooner. Then he’ll be on leave for a few days, maybe as long as a week, which I’m sure he’ll try to argue about.”

She rolled her eyes, and leaned into him, twining her fingers with his.

His breath caught a little. He hadn’t been—well, of course, they’d all said things, and made promises, and settled in together almost like a normal night, back in the warehouse. But that was under—it might have been different, now that they were safe.

Which, really, was a foolish thing for him to have thought, but—

She looked up at him. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he said, squeezing her hand.

She eyed him for a minute, then quirked a smile. “You said you had reasons,” she said. “And I’ve—I’ve already forgiven you, and they won’t change that either way, I promise, but if it’ll make you feel better to explain, I’ll listen.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“Not always,” she said. “But right now? Yes. And—well, I’d like to hear your side of things, too. Even if it doesn’t change anything.”

He sighed, and leaned back, watching Anakin float, sedated and peaceful. “I was…I was concerned,” he finally said, “that my feelings for you, for the two of you, were impairing my judgment. So I…ran, as far as I could, in the other direction. Which ended up being the exact _opposite_ of what I wanted to do, in hindsight. Not only in hurting you, of course, but…I did the very thing I hoped to avoid. Based my…my decisions on all the wrong things.”

She nodded. “I get it,” she said softly. “And it can be hard, to find the balance point between what we owe each other and what we owe the Republic. Harder for us than most, even— _exponentially_ harder—since we have to juggle three peoples’ individual needs.”

“Yes,” he said.

“But…well, like I said before, I think as long as we don’t shut each other out again, we can make it work,” she said. “As long as we keep _talking,_ we can get through things like this. Together.”

He nodded, and kissed the top of her head very softly. “I’ll do better next time,” he promised.

“Good. And we will, too. Or we’ll try, anyway,” she said, then paused for a minute. “You’re on your own getting Anakin to cooperate over the next week though. I had enough trouble keeping him from tearing his damn stitches again.”

“That…that does sound very much like him,” Obi-Wan said, with a sigh. “Ahsoka will help, though. I have a feeling she plans to hover.”

“That sounds entertaining,” she said, and laughed a little.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he said dryly, which just made her laugh again, before uncurling and moving a careful centimeter or two away.

But she left her hand on his, which was really all they needed right then.

The three of them had each other. And, like Padme had said, as long as they held together, that was all they would ever need.


	15. Coda

“It’s done,” Cad Bane’s hologram said. “I torched the entire warehouse, as requested.”

The photographic proof appeared on Sidious’ datapad as he spoke. “Good,” he said. “The credits will be in your account momentarily.”

“Good,” Bane said. “Always a pleasure, getting paid to eliminate a rival.”

He cut the connection with an irritated wave of his hand. The potential disaster had been contained, at least. But it had still taken time, resources, and attention that were much better spent elsewhere.

The week had started off rather brilliantly, too. The dry run of certain key portions of his endgame had gone well—better than he’d expected, even, when the Council had thrown in the unexpected bonus of that undercover mission.

And then, less than a full day after his triumphant return to Coruscant, he’d been alerted to a trace run on one of his tapped lines. The conversation he had observed had then been illuminating, but shouldn’t have been a particular concern. Yes, the weapons being tested were a reasonably valuable dejarik piece, but one he could afford to sacrifice if need be.

But the more he’d listened, the more the Dark Side had hummed a warning in his ear. The thief was a creature like Bane; one with the right level of amoral self-interest to be suitable for contracting, when Sidious needed such talents. He had hired this particular thief a few times, though not recently—the last had been approximately five years ago. And he and his agent had had direct communication during those periods, much like he did with Bane.

Was it, then, possible that this petty thief had recorded their communications? That there was evidence that could lead to Sidious’ exposure, buried somewhere in the cache to which he had directed Senator Amidala?

Sidious could not be certain, of course. Not without wasting time questioning the thief or searching the safehouse himself, neither of which was a practical option. But even a potential leak of this magnitude had to be dealt with, and with speed.

Amidala, of course, was a piece Sidious could ill afford to lose at this stage, but he could find a way work with her premature tragic demise. His true identity  _must_  be protected at all costs.

So, he had immediately contacted Bane, and relayed his instructions: go to the cache’s location, shoot down Amidala’s ship when it arrives. Remain in position, and wait for the inevitable search and rescue team to recover her body, then head to the surface and destroy the cache itself. Half his fee upon confirmation of the crash, half upon confirmation the potential evidence was destroyed. A little extra, of course, to compensate the bounty hunter for lost income as he cooled his heels for a few days.

Simpler, in some ways, to send Bane down to the surface immediately, but as much of a problem as Amidala’s death would be, to have her simply go  _missing_  would be an unmitigated disaster.

Or perhaps that had been the Force guiding him as well—he had discovered after the first half of the job was complete that Skywalker had accompanied Amidala; that he had,  _unintentionally,_ nearly arranged the death of his soon-to-be apprentice.

Too many near-misses, in too short a time. He would avoid such carelessness in the future.

As for the thief, Sidious had dispatched him personally. A risk in and of itself, naturally, but some messes, one simply had to clean up for oneself.

But the leak  _had_  been contained. Disaster  _had_  been averted. Skywalker and Amidala had both survived, if somewhat the worse for wear, and would be back in the capital within the next couple of days.

Still—Sidious could not quite shake the feeling that something had shifted over the last week, something _important,_ and not necessarily in the direction he would have chosen.

He frowned, focusing in on that feeling, trying to chase it down to its source, but it was nebulous; slipped through his fingers.

Well, no matter. Skywalker would be home soon enough, and Sidious could properly assess the situation then. He had every confidence that, just like the leak itself, damage control would be swift and effective.

And then he could return his attention to where it belonged—the war, and his fast-approaching endgame. Despite this irritating setback, in a year or less, everything would be his. Nothing could stop that now. It was inevitable.

Sidious pictured the galaxy spread at his feet, Skywalker and his remarkable gifts tamed and brought to heel as they very soon must be—

—and smiled.


End file.
